IC-NRLF 


PS 

3539 

U23 

V55 

1916 


771 


MA.N   LLAGE  LAWYER 

mm  BV 

ARTHUR  LEWIS  TUBES 


[^;  i  IT  TT 


THE  PENN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
PHILADELPHIA 


The  ;;;;;;v;i;:.0!: 
Village  Lawyer 

A  Comedy  Drama  in  Four  Acts 


BY 


Arthur  Lewis  Tubbs 

Author  of  "Farm  Folks,"  "Home  Ties,"  "The  Fruit  of 
His  Folly,"  "The  Finger  of  Scorn,"  etc. 


PHILADELPHIA 

THE  PENN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
1916 


COPYRIGHT  1914  BY  THE  PENN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


The  Village  Lawyer 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

SETH  BARRETT     ..........    the  lawyer 

DAVID  CON  ANT    .......      a  political  "  boss** 

JAMES  FERGUSON     .......  his  right  hand  man 

ALAN  SPENCER   ........  a  summer  boarder 

SAM  DILL     ........      a  much  married  man 

DAN  BRIGHT       ......      learning  to  be  a  lawyer 

HELEN  CONANT     .......       David's  daughter 

ISABEL  UNDERWOOD     .....    from  gay  Broadway 

ANGIE  BARRETT     .  ......  sister  of  Seth 

MRS.  DILL     ......  not  afraid  to  speak  her  mind 

LOBELIA     .     .     .......  a  household  factotum 

TIME  OF  PLAYING  —  About  two  hours  and  a  half 


SYNOPSIS 

ACT  I. — Seth  Barrett's  office,  on  an  afternoon  in  August. 

Love  and  politics. 

ACT  II.— Same  as  Act  I,  about  a  week  later.     The  letters. 
ACT  III. — Home  of  Seth  Barrett,  the  next  evening.     The 

heart  of  a  woman. 
ACT  IV. — Same  as  Acts  I  and  II,  the  following  day.     The 

winning  hand. 


NOTICE  TO  PROFESSIONALS 

This  play  is  published  for  the  free  use  of  amateurs  only.  Professional 
actors  or  companies  wishing  to  produce  it  in  any  form  or  under  any 
title  are  forbidden  to  do  so  without  the  consent  of  the  author,  who 
may  be  addressed  in  care  of  the  publishers. 

74.3437 

3 


STORY  OF  THE  PLAY 

Seth  Barrett,  a  young  lawyer,  is  running  for  district  attorney 
against  David  Conant,  a  political  "  boss  "  of  long  stand 
ing.  Conant  is  incensed  at  Seth's  refusal  to  withdraw 
his  name  from  the  ticket.  Being  unscrupulous  and  un 
relenting  toward  those  who  thwart  his  purpose,  he 
commands  Seth,  who  is  desperately  in  love  with  his 
daughter,  Helen,  to  cease  paying  his  attentions  to  her. 
Seth,  early  in  his  college  career,  sowed  a  few  wild  oats 
and  became  acquainted  with  gay  Broadway  and  its 
habitue's.  He  soon  awoke  to  the  folly  of  it  all  and  quite 
forgets  the  incidents  associated  with  that  period.  In 
some  way,  however,  Conant  learns  of  this,  and  ne 
gotiates  with  an  actress,  who  knew  Seth  at  this  time,  in 
an  attempt  to  make  public  a  greatly  magnified  account 
of  Seth's  past,  in  order  to  injure  him  politically.  But 
despite  Conant' s  iron  will  and  underhanded  methods, 
love  finds  a  way.  Seth  is  not  easily  frightened,  is  firm 
in  his  purpose,  and  plays  the  game  so  fairly  that  Co 
nant  becomes  ashamed  of  his  actions  and  relents.  Inter 
woven  with  the  stormy  courtship  of  the  village  lawyer, 
a  quieter,  but  none  the  less  earnest,  romance  runs  its 
course. 


COSTUMES  AND  CHARACTERISTICS 

SETH  BARRETT.  A  good-looking,  manly  young  country 
lawyer,  about  twenty-eight  or  thirty,  of  a  jovial,  easy 
going  disposition,  but  with  plenty  of  vim  and  spirit. 
Well  educated  and  mentally  keen  and  sharp-witted. 
Not  easily  ruffled  or  frightened,  but  still  whole-hearted 
and  sympathetic.  He  wears  a  plain,  neat  summer 
business  suit;  may  be  the  same  throughout,  or  a  light 
suit  in  the  first,  second  and  fourth  acts  and  a  dark  one 
in  the  third. 

DAVID  CONANT.  Typical  rural  political  leader  and  boss, 
about  fifty  years  of  age ;  short,  stockily  built ;  sharp 
eyes,  stern  countenance  ;  severe,  unscrupulous  and  un 
relenting  toward  those  who  cross  his  will.  Wears  plain 
business  suit. 

JAMES  FERGUSON.  Might  be  tall  and  thin,  in  contrast  to 
Conant,  of  about  the  same  age.  A  cringing  sycophant, 
occasionally  daring  to  "  speak  up,"  but  evidently 
afraid  of  Conant,  and  in  his  political  power.  Plain 
summer  suit. 

ALAN  SPENCER.  Dapper  young  city  fellow,  of  about 
twenty-three  or  thereabouts ;  handsome,  well  dressed 
in  neatly  fitting  summer  clothes,  with  rather  fancy 
shirts  and  neckties,  but  all  in  good  taste.  He  is  of  the 
somewhat  "  sporty,"  flashy  type,  accustomed  to  the 
lights  and  the  life  of  the  big  city,  but  by  no  means  fast 
or  offensive.  Should  be  in  the  good  will  of  the  au 
dience. 

SAM  DILL.  Little  old  man,  much  devoted  to  his  domineer 
ing  wife,  and  willing  to  bear  all  she  puts  upon  him  for 
the  sake  of  an  occasional  smile.  He  is  about  sixty, 
with  thin  gray  hair,  beard  or  chin  whiskers.  Comic 
rural  type,  without  being  a  caricature.  Wears  plain, 
somewhat  shabby  and  none  too  tidy  suit.  May  be  a 
little  better  dressed  in  ACT  III. 

DAN  BRIGHT.  Smart  boy  of  fourteen  or  fifteen,  with  all  of 
a  real  boy's  fondness  for  exciting  reading  and  athletic 
sport.  Active,  a  bit  "  fresh,"  but  the  kind  of  youngster 
one  likes.  Neat  suit,  showing  something  of  rough 
usage. 


PROPERTIES 

HELEN  CONANT.  Refined,  attractive  girl  of  about  nineteen, 
rather  delicate  and  timid,  showing  the  effect  of  severe 
home  discipline,  but  withal  sweet  and  winsome.  Pretty 
summer  costumes,  not  elaborate. 

ISABEL  UNDERWOOD.  Tall,  stately  young  woman,  some 
what  past  the  point  of  girlhood  ;  handsome,  of  a  rather 
bold  and  conspicuous  type  of  beauty,  but  not  without 
a  suggestion  of  gentleness  and  refinement.  Evidently 
the  victim  of  influences  and  surroundings  not  conducive 
to  the  development  of  the  finer  qualities.  She  wears 
two  or  three  different  costumes,  all  rather  elaborate  and 
fancy,  with  showy  hats,  flowers,  some  jewelry,  parasol, 
hand-bag,  etc. 

ANGIE  BARRETT.  Ingenue  character ;  pretty,  vivacious  girl 
of  seventeen  or  eighteen.  She  wears  simple  but  at 
tractive  and  becoming  light  summer  costumes,  hat,  etc. 

MRS.  DILL.  Character  part.  Middle-aged  woman  of  vil 
lage  gossip  variety  ;  talks  very  fast,  has  quick,  ener 
getic  movements.  Somewhat  "  bossy"  and  domineer 
ing,  but  not  disagreeably  so.  For  comic  effect  may 
be  considerably  larger  than  her  husband — or  vice  versa, 
he  being  much  the  larger,  making  her  authority  over 
him  the  more  funny  by  contrast.  She  is  plainly  dressed, 
in  first  act  in  ordinary  calico  or  gingham.  ACTS  II  and 
IV,  much  the  same.  ACT  III,  a  better  dress,  with  a 
touch  of  color.  Small  hat,  with  feather ;  comical  effect. 

LOBELIA.  Colored  character  part.  Stout,  "squatty" 
figure;  the  jovial,  lovable  "  old  mammy"  type.  Cal 
ico  dress,  apron,  etc.,  as  appropriate  to  time  and  scene. 


PROPERTIES 

Law  books.  Cheap,  paper-covered  dime  novel.  Calendar, 
several  legal  posters  and  notices  on  wall.  Papers,  legal 
documents,  etc.,  on  desk  and  in  drawers.  Telephone. 
Waste  paper  basket  with  contents.  Pieces  of  money. 
Cigars.  Postage  stamps.  Small  bundle  of  letters, 
stamped,  addressed  and  opened,  tied  together  with 
string  or  ribbon ;  several  other  letters  similar  in  size 
and  appearance,  also  stamped  and  addressed,  but  un 
opened.  Dining-table,  white  cloth,  red  spread,  few 
dishes.  Broom.  Fancy  work.  Palm  leaf  fan.  Dia 
mond  engagement  ring.  Several  grocery  store  packages. 
6 


SCENE  PLOTS 
ACTS  I,  II,  AND  IV 


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CHAIR. 


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SCENE. — SETH  BARRETT'S  LAW  OFFICE.  Entrances  R. 
and  L.  Window  in  flat,  c.  Desk  near  window,  and 
bookcases  up  R.  and  L.,  where  convenient.  Chairs  on 
both  sides  of  desk,  and  in  other  parts  of  stage* 


O 


\ 


OOOK, 


•SOFA 


TABLf.   I 


ACT  III.  Combined  dining  and  living  room  in  home  of 
Seth  Barrett.  Well  furnished,  with  easy  chairs,  couch, 
etc.  A  dining-room  table  L.  c.  Entrances  R.  and  L. 


The  Village  Lawyer 


ACT  I 

SCENE. — Plain  room,  the  law  office  of  SETH  BARRETT. 
Door  to  street  R.,  to  another  room  L.  ;  window  in  flat. 
Desk  up  c.,  near  window ;  large  easy  chair  near  it, 
several  other  chairs  about  stage  ;  law  books  on  desk  and 
shelf  or  bookcase;  calendar ,  legal  notices,  etc.,  on 
wall;  the  typical  furnishings  of  young  lawyer' s  office 
in  country  town.  Discover  DAN  BRIGHT  seated  in  easy 
chair,  with  feet  on  table,  asleep.  On  his  lap  is  a  large 
law  book,  inside  of  which  is  a  dime  novel.  Door  and 
window  are  open.  After  pause  enter  MRS.  DILL,  R. ; 
she  stands  a  moment  regarding  DAN. 

MRS.  D.  Say  !  Wake  up.  {Goes  and  rouses  DAN,  notic 
ing  dime  novel.)  You  lazy  thing,  why  don't  you  wake 
up  V  tend  t'  business  ? 

DAN  (waking,  sleepily).  Huh?  What?  (Recognizes 
MRS.  D!)  Oh,  how  do,  Mis'  Dill?  Where'd  you 
come  from  ?  (Rises,  closing  book  with  novel  inside. ) 

MRS.  D.  What  difference  does  it  make  where  I  come  from  ? 
What  I  want  t'  know  is,  where's  Seth  ?  I  want  t'  see 
him. 

DAN.     You  mean  Mr.  Barrett  ? 

MRS.  D.  I  mean  Seth  Barrett,  that's  who  I  mean.  Land, 
I  guess  you  needn't  think  I'm  goin'  t'  start  in  callin' 
him  "Mister,"  if  he  is  a  lawyer  'n'  runnin'  for  office. 
I  guess  I've  known  Seth  Barrett  all  his  life,  sence  he  was 
a  baby,  'n'  his  folks  b'fore  him,  'n'  I  ain't  goin'  t1 
start  in  callin'  him  "  Mister  "  at  this  late  day.  Where 
is  he? 

DAN.  I  d'  know,  exactly.  Went  down  the  street  a  while 
ago.  Said  he'd  be  back  in  half  an  hour.  More  'n  that 
now. 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


*D.     'N*  he   left   you   t' run   things,  I  suppose?     A 

pretty  one  ycru''be, — read'n'  dime  novels.     Oh,  I  saw 
?  *»;'iV  'TJiink   you'll   learn    t'  be   a   lawyer  read'n'  that 

"  trash  ? 
DAN.     Well,  law's  too  dry.     Have  t'  take  it  in  small  doses, 

'r  it'd  choke  me.     Anything  I  can  do  for  y',  Mis'  Dill  ? 
MRS.  D.     You  ?     The  idee  !     I  guess  they  ain't.     I  want  t' 

see  "  Mister  "  Barrett — on  legal  business.     (To  herself, 

with  determination.'}     I've  stood  it  jest  as  long  's  I'm 

goin'  to. 
DAN.     Well,  then   set  down  to  it.     (Places  chair  R.  c.) 

Here's  a  chair. 
MRS.  D.     Don't  you  get  impudent,  young  man.     I'll  tell 

Seth  Barrett  I  saw  you  read'n'  that  dime  novel. 

(She  sits.} 

DAN.  'Tain't  a  dime  novel — only  cost  a  nickel.  Besides, 
he  wouldn't  care.  Reads  'em  himself. 

MRS.  D.  Likely  story,  that  is.  A  lawyer  read'n'  dime 
novels  ! 

DAN.  Sure.  He  kep'  mine  the  other  day  when  I  wanted 
it.  Said  it  was  great.  (Shows  her  novel.}  Look — 
"  Perfidious  Pete ;  or,  the  Bandit  Band  of  Bloody 
Gulch."  Don't  that  sound  exciting  ? 

MRS.  D.  It  sounds  scandalous,  for  a  boy  like  you  t'  be 
storin'  his  mind  up  with.  Seth  Barrett  ought  t'  have 
more  sense.  I  guess  if  the  Democrat  c'mmittee  knew 
he  reads  that  trash  !  Goin'  t'  run  for  District  Attorney, 
I  hear  ? 

DAN.  Well,  if  he  does  he'll  get  'lected,  spite  o'  "Perfidi 
ous  Pete,"  I'll  bet. 

MRS.  D.  Huh  !  I  guess  "  Perfidious  Pete  "  won't  haves' 
much  t'  say  about  it  as  Dave  Conant  will.  Of  course, 
I'd  like  t'  see  Seth  get  it, — but  Dave  Conant !  He's 
lord  of  all  he  surveys  around  here,  'n'  when  it  comes  t' 
politics — well,  y'  might  as  well  try  t'  beat — I  d'  know 
what — 's  him.  (Rises  t  restlessly.}  But  I  can't 
hang  around  here  all  day.  I  come  on  business,  'n'  I 
should  think  he'd  ought  t'  be  here  t'  tend  to  it. 

DAN.     Sure  there's  nothing  I  can  do,  Mis'  Dill  ? 

MRS.  D.     I  guess  not ;  not  unless  you  grant  divorces. 

DAN.     Oh  !     You  want  another  divorce — from  y'rhusban*  ? 

MRS.  D,  Land,  who  would  I  want  it  from  ?  Think  I  want 

10 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


a  divorce  from  the  town  pump  ?  You'd  make  a  pretty 
lawyer,  you  would.  As  for  "  another,"  what  do  y' 
mean  by  that?  Ain't  had  one  yet;  but  I've  made  up 
my  mind  to  get  one  now.  I've  stood  his  shiftlessness  as 
long  's  I'm  goin'  t'. 

(ANGIE  BARRETT  appears  at  window,  putting  head  in.') 

ANGIE.     Good-morning.     How  d'  do.  Mrs.  Dill?     Hello, 

Dan.     Seth  in  ? 

DAN.     Nope.     Out.     Be  back  in  a  minute.     Come  on  in. 
ANGIE.     All  right,  I  will.     (Disappears.} 
MRS.  D.     Pretty  gay  piece,  if  she  is  his  sister.     Guess  he 

ain't  none  too  strict  with  her. 

{Enter  ANGIE,  R.) 

ANGIE.     Why,  Mrs.  Dill,  I'm  surprised  to  see  you  here — in 

a  lawyer's  office.     No  legal  business,  I  hope  ? 
MRS.  D.     Well,  if  it  is,  that's  my  business,  ain't  it? 
ANGIE.     Why,  of  course.     Excuse  me.     I  didn't  mean  to 

pry  into  it.      I  was  only  joking. 
MRS.  D.     Well,  I  guess  a  divorce  ain't  no  joking  matter. 

Oh,  yes,  you  might 's  well  know — it  ain't  no  secret,  'n' 

I'd  jest  as  soon  it  be  told,  seein'  it's  come  to  it.     I've 

stood  it  jest  as  long  's  I'm  goin'  t'.     Me  'n'  Sam's  got 

t'  part. 
ANGIE.     Oh,  Mrs.  Dill,  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that.     I  always 

thought  Mr.  Dill  such  a  nice  man. 
MRS.  D.     Oh,  you  did  !     Well,  bein'  nice  don't  buy  bread 

'n'  butter  'n'  pay  taxes.     I'd  ruther  a  man  'd  have  some 

gumption  'n  t'  jest  be  "  nice." 
ANGIE.     Why — yes ;   but — really,  don't  you  think  it  could 

be  patched  up 

MRS.  D.     No,  I  don't.     It's  be'n  patched  'n'  patched,  till 

they  ain't  room  for  another  patch.       No,    I've  made 

up  my  mind  'n'  I  mean  t'  have  it.     I've  stood  it  long 

enough. 
DAN.     Don't  blame  y',  Mis'  Dill.     A  man  as  lazy  as  your 

husband  is 

MRS.  D.     Well,  I  guess  it  ain't  your  place  t'  criticize  him,  a 

little  upstart  like  you.     Huh  !     You'd  better  look  t' 

home. 
DAN.     Whew ! 

n 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


ANGIE.  There,  Dan,  now  will  you  be  good?  But  I'll  be 
going,  and  stop  on  ray  way  back.  I'm  just  going  down 
to  the  post-office. 

MRS.  D.     S'pose  you  expect  a  letter  from  that  city  feller. 

ANGIE.  M'm — well,  if  I  do,  it'll  be  my  letter,  so  you 
needn't  worry  about  it. 

(Laughs  mischievously  and  exits  R.) 

MRS.  D.  If  she  was  my  girl,  I'd  give  her  a  good  spankin'. 
Such  impudence.  (She  goes  up  to  window,  looks  out 
towards.  DAN  is  R.,  by  door.)  I  declare,  here  comes 
Dave  Conant.  Looks  like  a  thunder-cloud,  too.  I 
wonder  what's  up  now. 

DAN.  Oh,  I  suppose  something  ain't  gone  t*  suit  him.  If 
y'  cross  y'r  leg  the  ways  he  don't  think  y'  ought  to,  he 
gets  on  his  ear.  S'pose  he's  heard  about  Mr.  Barrett's 
running  for  District  Attorney. 

MRS.  D.  Mebbe  that's  it.  Well,  I  guess  he  can't  scare 
Seth  Barrett. 

DAN.     You  bet  he  can't.     He'll  try  it,  though. 

(DAVID  CON  ANT  passes  window  ;  glances  in,  then  enters  R.) 

DAVID  (to  DAN).     Where's  your  boss  ? 

DAN.     You  mean  Mr.  Barrett  ? 

DAVID.  Of  course  I  mean  Mr.  Barrett.  Who  else  should 
I  mean  ?  Where  is  he  ? 

DAN.  I  d'  know,  Mr.  Conant,  jest  exactly.  He  went  up 
the  street.  Be  back  soon,  I  guess. 

DAVID.  Well,  I  want  to  see  him.  (Notices  MRS.  D.)  Oh, 
good-afternoon,  Mrs.  Dill.  Patronizing  the  law  nowa 
days? 

MRS.  D.  (seated^,  c.).     Mebbe.     Be  you? 

DAVID.     Well,  if  I  am,  that's  my  business. 

MRS.  D.  And  if  I  am,  that's  my  business,  Dave  Conant. 
Guess  I've  got  jest  as  much  right  here  as  you  have. 
(He  glares  at  her.)  Oh,  you  needn't  think  you  can 
scare  me,  if  you  be  the  richest  man  in  the  county  'n' 
think  you  own  everybnddy  around  here  jestb'cause  you 
got  a  little  money.  Good  land,  I  knew  you  when  you 
didn't  have  a  cent — 'n'  I  d'  know's  you  would  have 
now  'f  you'd  been  very  p'tic'lar  how  you  got  it. 

DAVID.     Say,   see  here,  my  fine  woman,  you'd  better  be 

12 


THE  VILLAGE  LA  WYER 


careful  how  you  let  your  tongue  run.  Even  a  prover 
bial  gossip  may  go  too  far. 

MRS.  D.  So?  Well,  if  I'm  "  proverbial,"  let  me  give  you 
a  proverb  :  "  Give  a  rascal  rope  enough  'n'  he'll  hang 
himself."  That's  a  good  one  for  you  t'  think  over,  I 
reckon. 

DAVID.  Pooh  !  Even  an  insult  from  you  isn't  worth 
noticing.  (To  DAN.)  I'll  be  back.  (Goes  R.) 

DAN.     All  right,  Mr.  Conant.     I'll  tell  him  you  was  here. 

(DAVID,  R.,  is  about  to  exit,  when  he  meets  SETH  BARRETT, 
who  enters  breezily.  DAVID  comes  back  to  R.  c. ;  SETH 
pauses  c.) 

SETH.  Why,  how  d'  you  do,  'squire  ?  Glad  to  see  you. 
And  Mrs.  Dill,  too.  My,  but  I  am  honored.  (To 
DAVID.)  Won't  you  sit  down  ? 

DAVID.  No,  thanks.  Haven't  time.  Can  say  what  I  have 
to  say  standing,  just  as  well.  Only  I  wish  to  speak  to 
you  in  private — {glancing  meaningly  at  MRS.  D.)  if  it 
is  convenient  ? 

MRS.  D.  (jwt  stirring).  I  was  here  first.  "  First  come, 
first  served."  That's  another  good  proverb. 

DAVID.     But,  madam,  I  have  important  business. 

MRS.  D.  Well,  good  land,  don't  you  s'pose  I  can  have  im 
portant  business,  too?  I  s'pose  yours  is  politics. 
You've  heard  Seth  Barrett  is  goin'  t'  run  for  District 
Attorney  on  the  Democratic  ticket,  'n'  you've  come  t' 
see  'f  you  can't  scare  him  out  of  it — or  buy  him  off. 
Don't  you  let  him  do  it,  Seth. 

DAVID.     Madam 

SETH.     Why,  Mrs.  Dill,  I 

MRS.  D.  Don't  "Madam"  me,  nor  "Mrs.  Dill"  me, 
either.  I  may  be  a  woman,  but  I  know  a  thing 'r  two, 
and  one  of  'em  is,  that  some  men  think  they  can  run 
the  universe,  but  sooner  'r  later  they  get  their  come 
uppance.  I  come  here  t'  see  you  on  legal  business, 
Mr.  Barrett,  'n' — I  want  t'  speak  t'  you  in  private — 
(with  a  defiant  look  at  DAVID)  "  if  it  is  convenient." 

(DAVID  grunts,  angrily,  turning  away  in  disgust.     SETH 
bows  politely.) 

SETH.  Certainly,  Mrs.  Dill.  I  will  ask  the  'squire  to  wait. 
I  shall  be  pleased  to  have  you  as  a  client. 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


MRS.   D.     Well,   I  d'  know's  I'm  a  client,  exactly,  but  I 

want (Looks  at  DAVID  again,  meaningly.)     I'll 

tell  you  what,  when  we  are  alone. 
DAVID.     Of  course,  if  I  am   intruding ( Goes  to  R.) 

I'll  call  back  in  a  few  minutes,  Mr.  Barrett.     Perhaps 

by  that  time  you  will  be  at  liberty. 
MRS.    D.    (rising).     You    needn't    hurry   yourself.     What 

I've  got  t1  say '11  take  more'n  a  few  minutes. 

(DAVID  smiles  superciliously  and  exits  R.) 

DAN.     Gee  !     You  talked  right  up  t'  him,  didn't  y'  ? 

MRS.  D.  Of  course  I  did.  He  scared  his  poor,  meek  little 
wife  t'  death,  'n'  is  maldn'  life  miserable  for  that 
daughter  of  his — 'n'  tryin'  t'  run  everybuddy  he  comes 
to — but  he  needn't  think  I'm  afraid  of  him.  Thank 

goodness,  I  ain't  his  wife.  But  if  I  was By  the 

way,  Seth  (looking  at  DAN),  I  said  "  alone,"  y'  know. 

SETH.  Certainly,  Mrs.  Dill.  (To  DAN.)  Dan,  you  can 
go  for  a  while.  Be  back  in  half  an  hour. 

DAN  (getting  hat  and  going  R.).  All  right,  Mr.  Barrett. 
(Mischievously,  as  he  glances  at  MRS.  D.)  I'll  go 
down  to  the  store  'n'  g't  that  new  dime  novel  we  was 
talkin'  about — "The  Murders  in  the  Morgue;  or,  the 
Midnight  Massacre " 

(Exit,  R.) 

MRS.  D.  My,  but  that  boy's  a  piece.  Says  you  read  them 
dime  novels.  I  should  think  a  lawyer 

SETH.  Ho  !  I  just  glanced  at  one,  one  day,  and  he  caught 
me  at  it.  Ever  since  then  he  accuses  me  of  reading 
them.  Won't  you  be  seated  again,  Mrs.  Dill,  and  tell 
me  what  I  can  do  for  you  ? 

MRS.  D.  Thanks.  (Sits.)  I  want  a  divorce.  I've  stood 
it  jest's  long  as  I'm  a-goin'  t'.  He's  the  laziest, 
shifflesest  thing  't  ever  lived,  'n'  I'm  tired  of  it. 

SETH.  What — again,  Mrs.  Dill  ?  You  know,  this  is  about 
the  seventh  or  eighth  time  we  have  talked  this  matter 
over.  Don't  you  think 

MRS.  D.  I  don't  think,  I  know — that  I  mean  it  this  time. 
I  know  you've  patched  it  up  every  time  b'fore,  'n' 
made  me  overlook  it  'n'  forgive  him,  but  this  time  he's 
gone  too  far.  I  ain't  goin'  t'  put  up  with  it  no  longer, 
and  that's  all  they  is  about  it. 

14 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


SETH  (seated  R.  c.,  she  c.  He  regards  her  with  patient 
good  humor).  M'm — what  has  he  done  now? 

MRS.  D.  It  ain't  s'  much  what  he's  done,  it's  what  be 
don't  do.  I  want  that  divorce,  'n'  I  mean  t'  have 
it.  If  you  won't  git  it  for  me,  I  guess  they's  other 
lawyers 

SETH.  But  you  will  have  to  tell  me  the  circumstances, 
Mrs.  Dill,  or  how  can  I  proceed  ?  We  have  to  have 
grounds,  you  know — and  evidence.  What  has  Sam 
done  to  make  you  think  you  are  entitled  to  a  divorce 
from  him  ? 

MRS.  D.  Entitled  ?  I  guess  I'm  entitled  to  it,  fast  enough. 
He  jest  sets  around  'n'  smokes  his  pipe,  'r  whittles,  V 
won't  hardly  get  a  pail  o'  water  'r  bring  in  an  armful 
o'  wood  when  I  tell  him  to 

SETH.  M'm — did  you  ever  try  asking,  instead  of  telling, 
Mrs.  Dill  ? 

MRS.  D.  Huh  !  I  guess  you  needn't  think  I'm  goin'  t' 
coax  Sam  Dill  t'  do  anything.  Don't  I  keep  boarders, 
'n'  do  sewin'  when  I  have  time,  'n'  work  my  fingers  to 
the  bone,  'n'  then — you  expect  me  t'  coax.  I'd  like  t' 
see  m'self !  If  I  coax,  it'll  be  with  the  broom-handle  or 
the  rollin'  pin. 

SETH.  That's  just  it,  Mrs.  Dill.  You  pursue  the  wrong 
tactics.  Many  a  man  can  be  persuaded  when  he  can't 
be  driven. 

MRS.  D.  Not  Sam  Dill.  'T  any  rate,  I  ain't  the  coaxin' 
kind.  No,  sir;  I'm  sick  'n'  tired  of  it,  'n'  I've  stood 
it  jest  as  long  as  I  mean  to.  I  want  that  divorce, 
'n'- 

SETH.     On  what  grounds  ?     Incompatibility  of  temper  ? 

MRS.  D.  No,  none  of  y'r  high-soundin'  terms — jest  plain 
shiftlessness  'n'  lack  of  gumption.  How  much'll  it 
cost? 

SETH.  M'm — I  can't  say  just  now,  Mrs.  Dill.  Will  you 
require  alimony? 

MRS.  D.     Good  land,  can't  you  handle  the  case  alone? 

SETH.  Why,  yes,  I Of  course.  I  meant  will  you 

require  Sam  to  pay  you  so  much  a  week  ? 

MRS.  D.  Oh  !  I  thought  you  meant  he  was  some  other 
lawyer.  As  for  that,  I  guess  it's  a  lot  I'd  get  out  o' 
Sam  Dill.  No,  all  I  want's  t'  get  rid  of  him,  'n'  thank 
ful  for  that.  (Rises,  goes  toward  R.,  looks  off.) 

15 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


Good  land,  here  he  comes  now  !     I  wonder  what  he 

wants. 

SETH  (rising,  looking  off).  Who, — Sam?  So  it  is.  (Mo 
tions  L.)  Suppose  you  go  in  there,  Mrs.  Dill,  while 

I  talk  to  him  a  minute 

MRS.  D.     What  !     Me  hide  from  Sam  Dill  ?     I  guess  I  ain't 

afraid  t'  face  him  any  time 

SETH.     No,  of  course  not;   but  it  might  be  better.     You 

see,  if  he  knew  you  were  applying  for  a  divorce 

Why 

MRS.  D.     Well,  of  course  I  don't  want  him  t*  know  jest 

yet.     I  want  t'  spring  it  on  him  as  a  su'prise.     (Goes 

L.)    But  you  needn't  try  t'  patch  it  up,  'cause  it  can't 

be  done  this  time. 

SETH.     Oh,  no,  certainly  not ;  I  understand  that  perfectly. 
MRS.  D.     No;  I've  stood  it  jest  as  long  's  I'm  goin'  t', 

V 

(Exit  L.,  looking  back,  just  as  SAM  DILL  enters  R.) 

SETH.     Why,  hello,  Sam.     How  are  you  ? 

SAM.     Miserable,  thank  y',  Mr.  Barrett. 

SETH.     Oh,  no  ;  not  "  Mister  "  Barrett.     Just  Seth,  Sam. 

SAM.  Sure.  Didn't  know  but  you'd  want  the  "  Mister," 
now  you're  sett'n'  up  t'  run  Pr  politics.  'G'inst 
Dave  Con  ant,  too.  Some  grit,  I  call  it.  Hope  y' 
beat  him,  'f  he  is  a  Republican.  Al'ays  be'n  one 
m'self,  but  I'd  like  t'  see  Dave  Conant  licked  all 
holler. 

SETH.  Well,  that's  what  we're  going  to  try  to  do,  Sam. 
Pretty  tough  proposition  though,  I  guess.  But  how's 
everything  up  to  the  house,  Sam  ? 

SAM.     My  house — er — I  mean,  "  her  "  house  ?     (Sits,  L.  c.) 

SETH  (laughing).  Well,  yes, — whose  ever  house  it  is.  Any 
boarders  now  ? 

SAM.  Couple.  Expect  that  feller  from  the  city  this  week 
— young  Spencer.  Dude  like,  y'  know,  't  was  here 
last  summer.  Shined  up  t'  your  Angie,  y'  know. 
That  one. 

SETH.  Oh,  yes;  nice  sort  of  chap,  I  thought,  though  a 
little  fast.  How's  your  wife,  Sam  ?  Well  ? 

SAM.  Sure.  Wouldn't  nothin'  dare  make  her  sick,  'nless 
she  said  it  could.  Say,  Seth,  that's — wal,  that's  kind 
o'  what  I  dropped  in  t'  see  y'  about — her.  We  don't 
16 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


seem  t'  hitch  it  up  very  well  t'gether.  Can't  do 
nothin'  t'  please,  no  matter  how  hard  I  try. 

SETH.     Do  you  try,  Sam  ? 

SAM.  Try  !  Should  say  I  do.  Make  a  reg'lar  hired  girl 
out  o'  m'self — washin'  dishes  V  all — reg'lar  woman's 
work — V  don't  git  no  thanks  for  it. 

SETH.  Well,  you  get  a  good  home — your  food,  and  so 
forth.  Remember  that,  Sam. 

SAM.  Yes,  but  'tain't  that,  though,  Seth.  I'm  discouraged. 
'Tain't  no  good  way  t'  live.  I  married  Jane  f  r  love, 
V  I'd  love  her  's  much  as  I  ever  did,  if  she'd  let  me. 
Thought  she  loved  me  too,  but — (very  much  affected, 
wiping  eyes)  somethin's  killed  it.  Ain't  got  nothin'  t' 
live  for  now.  What  I  want,  Seth,  is  t'  have  y'  draw 
up  my  will,  leavin'  everything  t'  her.  O'  course  I 
ain't  got  nothin',  but  what  they  is  I  want  her  t'  have. 

SETH.     Why,  Sam,  aren't  you  well  ? 

SAM.  Yes,  well  enough,  fur's  that  goes,  'xcept  the  lumbago 
V  a  few  little  things  like  that.  Butm'  heart's  affected 
— breakin'  life. 

(Wipes  eyes.     MRS.  D.  looks  out  L. ,  surprised,  much  inter 
ested,  but  inclined  to  be  disdainful.) 

SETH.  Why,  Sam,  do  you  take  it  that  hard  ?  But  don't 
worry ;  if  anything  happened  to  you,  she'd  get  it  all, 
seeing  you  have  no  heirs.  But  I  hope  it  won't  come  to 
that,  Sam. 

SAM  (rising).  Well,  you  never  c'n  tell.  Sometimes  I  feel 
like  hangin'  m'self  to  a  rafter  in  the  wood-shed.  D* 
know  but  I  will  some  day.  Lost  Jane's  love,  so  they 
ain't  nothin'  t'  live  for. 

(Enter  MRS.  D.,  L.,  much  perturbed  ;  almost  in  fears.) 

SETH  (pretending  not  to  see  her}.     M'm — don't  you  think 

you  could  tell  her  how  you  feel  ? 
SAM.     No — no,  that  wouldn't  do.     Told  her  enough  times. 

Her   love's  dead,  'n'  that's  the  end  of  it.     \Going.) 

Don't  be  s' prised  t'  hear  there's  an  end  o'  me,  Seth, 

any  time. 
SETH.     Now,  Sam,  I  hope  you  won't  go  and  do  anything 

desperate. 
SAM.    That's  the  way  I  feel.     Nothin'  t'  live  for. 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


(He  is  about  to  exit  R.,  when  MRS.  D.  reveals  herself,  run 
ning  over  to 


MRS.  D.  (brokenly}.     Oh,—  Sam  ! 

SAM  (looking  at  her,  pretending  to  be  very  much  surprised}. 

Jane  !     You  here  ?     Away  !     All  is  over  between  us. 

You  have  broke  my  heart. 
MRS.  D.   {pleadingly).     Oh,  Sam,  I  didn't  know  you  felt 

that   way  about    it.       (Sobs.)      Oh,    dear,    I've  mis 

judged  you,  'n'  never  knew  it.     Oh,  dear  !     Oh,  dear  ! 
SAM.      Yes,    you've    misjudged    me.       (Shakes  his    head 

sadly.)     'N'  oh,  how  I  loved  y'  ! 
MRS.  D.     "  Did,"  Sam  ?     Don't  say  it's  all  dead  !     Don't, 

Sam,  'r  it'll  kill  me. 

SAM.     Then  we'll  die  t'gether,  Jane,  like  they  do  in  books. 
MRS.  D.     Oh,  Sam  !     Sam,  f'rgive  me.     I'll  never  speak 

a  cross  word  to  y'  agin.     I  didn't  know,  Sam;  I  didn't 

realize  how  y'  loved   me.     Oh,  Sam  !     'N'  I  love  you 

too,  Sam,  —  I  love  y'  ! 
SAM  (relenting,  but  pretending  to  hesitate).     Be  —  be  y'  sure, 

Jane  ?     Y'  mean  it  this  time  ? 
MRS.  D.     Y-yes,  Sam,  I  mean  it. 
SAM.     Then  I'll—  I'll  f'rgive  y'—  jest  this  once. 
MRS.  D.     Oh,  Sam  ! 

(He  opens  his  arms,  she  sinks  into  them  and  buries  her  face 
on  his  shoulder.  He  looks  at  SETH,  winking.  SETH, 
who  is  L.  c.,  smiles  back.  They  are  C.,  now  start  to 
go  out  R.) 

SETH.     M'm  —  by  the  way,  Mrs.  Dill,  what  about  that  —  er 

—  that  little   matter  of  business  you  came  to  see  me 
about  ? 

MRS.  D.  {pausing  R.).     Business?    What  -     Oh,  yes 

—  you   mean    that   back   board   bill.     Wai,  I  guess  1 
won't  take  it  up  jest  now,  thanks.     Mebbe  they'll  pay. 
Come  on,  Sammy  dear. 

(Holds  out  her  hand  to  him  affectionately  ;  then  glares  at 
SETH,  frowning  and  shaking  her  head.) 

SAM  (following  her).  All  right,  lovey  lamb.  (Exit  MRS. 
D.,  R.  ;  SAM  lingers,  speaking  slyly  to  SETH,  nodding 
head  towards.)  Knew  she  was  in  there  the  hull  time 

—  seen  her  go  in. 

18 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


(Exit  R.,    chuckling.     SETH   looks   after   them,    laughing. 
ANGIE  runs  in  R.,  looking  back.) 

ANGIE.  Guess  they've  made  up  again,  haven't  they? 
Aren't  they  the  limit  ? 

(She  has  a  letter  which  is  opened.  ) 

SETH.  Well,  that's  the  way  it  goes,  Angie.  That's  what  it 
means  to  get  married.  But  I  suppose  it's  worth  while 
quarreling,  just  for  the  fun  of  making  up. 

ANGIE.  I  guess  it  would  be  better  to  be  in  a  make-up 
mood  all  the  time,  without  the  quarreling.  Oh,  Seth, 
he's  coming  back  !  (Shows  letter.} 

SETH.  Of  course  there's  only  one  uhe" — Alan  Spencer. 
Yes,  I  had  heard. 

ANGIE.  I  suppose  Mrs.  Dill  told  you.  He's  going  to  board 
there  again.  Yes,  I  just  got  a  letter  from  him.  He's 
coming  to-morrow.  Oh,  Seth,  I'm  so  excited — so 
happy  ! 

SETH.  Be  careful,  little  sister.  Don't  get  carried  away 
with  that  handsome  chap,  just  because  he  has  charm 
ing  manners  and  says  pretty  things  to  you.  Don't  be 
gin  to  take  it  too  seriously.  How  do  you  know  but 
what  he  has  another  girl  in  the  city — perhaps  several  of 
them? 

ANGIE.  Oh,  Seth,  I'm  sure  he  isn't  that  kind.  He  is  such 
a  gentleman,  and  writes  such  lovely  letters. 

SETH.  Dear  me,  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  been  doing  my  duty 
as  a  big  brother.  ( They  are  c.  /  he  now  puts  his  arm 
about  her  affectionately.)  You  know  I  want  you  to  be 
happy,  Angie  dear;  and  that's  just  it.  I  am  older 
than  you  and  have  seen  more  of  the  world.  I  have 
been  to  the  big  city,  and  had  what  they  call  "  experi 
ences  " — a  few  of  them — and  I  know  what  these  city 
young  men  are  and  how  they  often  look  upon  innocent 
little  country  girls  like  you  as  easy  and  lawful  prey. 

ANGIE.     But,  Seth — not  Alan — I  am  sure 

SETH.  No,  my  dear,  you  are  not  sure — yet.  I  want  you 
to  wait  until  you  are,  that's  all.  Alan  Spencer  may 
be  one  of  the  finest  fellows  in  the  world,  and  entirely 
worthy  of  you — I  hope  he  is — but  we  must  be  a.  little 
wary,  you  know,  until  we  find  out.  We  must  prove 

19 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


him,  first,  and  then — why,  then  it  will  come  out  all 

right. 

(He  kisses  her  tenderly ;  she  smiles  up  at  him  confidingly 
and  starts  to  go,  just  as  DAN  runs  in  R.) 

DAN.     Say,  here  comes  Mr.  Conant  back. 

(SETH  goes  R.,  meets  DAVID,  who  enters  R.  ;  he  nods  care 
lessly  to  ANGIE,  who  replies  as  she  goes  out  R.,  looking 
back  at  SETH  with  a  smile.  DAN  is  up  by  desk>  SETH 
and  DAVID  down  c.) 

SETH.  Good-morning  again,  'squire.  Won't  you  sit 
down? 

DAVID.  No,  thanks.  What's  this  I  hear,  Barrett,  about 
your  accepting  the  nomination  for  District  Attorney  on 
the  Democratic  ticket  ?  Is  it  true  ? 

SETH.     Guess  it  is,  'squire. 

DAVID.  Didn't  you  know  I  was  running  for  District 
Attorney  ? 

SETH.  Why,  yes,  of  course.  Some  honor  to  have  such  an 
opponent,  isn't  it  ?  I  couldn't  run  against  a  better — 
a  stronger  man. 

DAVID.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  say  "  Thank  you  "  to  that, 
even  though  you  changed  "  better  "  to  "  stronger,"  but 
instead  I'm  going  to  tell  you  that  you  will  have  cause  to 
be  thankful  to  me  if  you  take  my  advice  and  refuse  the 
nomination. 

SETH.  You  are  very  kind,  but — really,  I  don't  think  I  need 
advice  on  that  subject.  Thought  it  over  pretty  seriously 
and  finally  taken  my  own  advice  that  it's  the  thing  to 
do.  I  haven't  had  a  hankering  for  politics,  but  this 
time — well,  I  feel  the  call. 

DAVID.  So!  That's  it,  is  it?  A  "call"  to  take  up  the 
fight  against  me,  I  suppose — considering  me  as  one 
who  ought  to  be  put  down  ?  Very  well.  But  let  me 
tell  you,  young  man,  you  are  taking  a  pretty  big  proposi 
tion  on  your  hands.  I'm  not  an  opponent  you  will  find 
it  easy  to  get  the  best  of.  I  guess  you  know  that. 

SETH.  I  reckon  I  do,  'squire.  That  makes  it  all  the  more 
interesting,  doesn't  it  ?  I  shouldn't  care  to  run  against 
one  who  wasn't  worth  beating.  If  I  beat  you,  it'll  be 
all  the  more  to  my  credit. 

20 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


DAVID  (laughing  sarcastically}.  Ha !  Maybe  it  will. 
But  you  aren't  going  to  beat  me.  Why,  do  you  sup 
pose,  after  all  my  experience  in  politics  and — well,  the 
hold  I  have  on  affairs  in  this  county — I'm  going  to  let 
a  little — a — well,  a  novice  like  you — step  in  and  beat 
me  ?  Not  much.  Ha  !  Well,  I  guess  not ! 

SETH.  Sure  you're  not,  'squire — if  you  can  help  it.  A 
"  little — m'm — well,  '  novice,'  " — like  me,  hasn't  much 
chance,  I'll  admit.  But  I'm  going  to  take  that  chance, 
and  taking  it  I'm  going  to  do  my  best  to  come  out 
ahead.  Surely  you  can't  blame  me  for  that.  "  All's 
fair  in  love  and  war  " — or  politics,  which  amounts  to 
the  same  thing  sometimes — you  know.  But  I  don't 
want  any  hard  feelings.  That  isn't  my  nature.  1 
want  to  go  about  this  thing  fair  and  square  and  amica 
bly.  Can't  it  be  done? 

DAVID.  No,  it  can't.  If  you  run  against  me,  it's  war,  and 
nothing  else.  And  I'll  give  you  fair  warning,  it'll  be 
war  to  the  finish  and  you'll  get  the  worst  of  it.  What's 
more,  you  may  consider  that — well,  there's  something 
else  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about.  Of  course,  if  you 
go  in  against  me  in  this  race,  why,  naturally,  you  canto 
expect  me  to  permit  you  to — to  have  anything  more' to 
do  with  my  daughter.  This  settles  it  between  you  and 
her.  Some  time  ago  you  asked  me  to  give  my  consent, 
but — I  reckon  you  know  what  my  answer  is  now. 

SETH.  But,  'squire,  you  wouldn't  let  politics  influence  you 
in  a  matter  like  that  !  Why,  that  wouldn't  be  fair. 
You  know  how  it  is  between  Helen  and  me — that  she 
has  accepted  me,  and — and  that  all  we  want  now  is 
your  consent.  I  can  support  her — I — of  course,  I 
know  I'm  not  half  good  enough  for  her — no  man  is — 
but — you  wouldn't  be  so  unjust  as  that,  'squire,  would 
you? 

DAVID.  That's  my  decision,  and  I  stick  to  it.  {Goes  R.) 
I  guess  there's  no  more  to  be  said.  You've  made  up 
your  mind,  so  have  I.  Give  up  this  fight  or  give  up 
my  daughter.  You  have  your  choice. 

SETH.  I — why,  I  can't  give  up  the  "  fight,"  as  you  call  it, 
now,  'squire.  It  wouldn't  be  right.  I  have  promised 
to  enter  the  field  and  do  my  utmost  to  win.  I  must 
stick  to  it  now,  whatever  comes.  But — surely  you  see 
the  injustice  of  letting  a  fair  and  square  contest  in 

21 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


politics,  between  two  men  who  have  always  been  of 
different  parties,  influence  you  in  a  personal  matter  like 
this — especially  when  Helen  and  I  love  each  other  and 
— I  know  you  don't  mean  it.  You  can't. 
DAVID.  Don't  talk  to  me  about  "  injustice,"  young  man. 
I  know  my  business  and  run  my  own  affairs.  I've  told 
you  what's  what,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it. 

(He  is  about  to  go  out,  but  SETH,  now  asserting  him  self 
with  dignity,  goes  and  steps  in  front  of  him,  so  he  is 
compelled  to  stay.) 

SETH.  No,  this  isn't  the  end  of  it.  Don't  deceive  your 
self.  I'm  not  as  easy  as  you  think,  perhaps.  There's 
fighting  blood  in  me,  not  only  when  it  comes  to  the 
war  of  politics,  but  in  the  matter  of  love.  I  don't  in 
tend  to  give  up  this  fight,  and  I  don't  intend  to  give 
up  your  daughter,  either. 

DAVID.  I'd  have  you  understand  my  daughter  will  do  as  I 
say.  My  word  is  law  in  my  house,  and  it's  a  law  as 
inflexible  as  any  you  have  in  your  books.  When  I 

.  command,  she  obeys.  I  don't  think  there's  any  more 
*L  to  be  said.  Good-day. 

(SETH  steps  aside,  downcast,  but  with  a  determined  air, 
and  DAVID  exits  R.  SETH  stands  a  moment  looking 
after  him,  losing  his  confidence  for  an  instant,  then 
rousing  himself,  clenching  his  fist,  with  a  close  pressing 
of  the  lips.  After  a  pause,  HELEN  CON  ANT  and  ANGIE 
put  their  heads  in  window,  unnoticed  by  SETH.) 

ANGIE  (looking  R.).     Is  he  gone? 

SETH  (looking  about,  seeing  them,  delighted}.     Oh — hel-lo  ! 

My,   but   how  the   sun   is  shining  all  of  a  sudden  1 

Come  in,  pretty  sunbeams. 

{Goes  to  window,  greeting  them,  then  to  door,  as  they  enter. 
They  look  back  to  be  sure  DAVID  has  disappeared.} 

ANGIE.     Sure  he's  gone  ?     Helen  was  afraid  to  come  in. 
HELEN.     No,  I  wasn't  exactly  afraid,  but Oh,  Seth  ! 

(She  is  close  to  him,  c. ;  he  takes  her  in  his  arms.    ANGIE  L.  c.) 

SETH.     Yes,  dear,  I  know.     It  will  come  out  all  right. 
HELEN.     Oh,  Seth,  do  you  think  so  ? 

22 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


SETH.     Don't  you  worry. 

(About  to  kiss  her,  but  she  draws  back,  looking  shyly  at 
ANGIE.) 

ANGIE.  Don't  mind  me.  (Turns  away.)  Love's  blind, 
and  so  am  I. 

(SETH  about  to  kiss  HELENA)  . 

HELEN.  Bttt,  Seth,  dear — you  mustn't.  Father  says 

He — he  says  that  if  you  run  against  him,  I  must  never 
speak  to  you  again.  And,  oh,  Seth,  you  know  father  ! 

SETH.  Yes,  dear,  I  know.  He  has  just  been  telling  me  all 
about  it,  and  I  told  him — well,  I  told  him  a  few  things 
too. 

HELEN  (hopefully}.     Did  you  tell  him  you  wouldn't  run  ? 

SETH.  No,  dear,  I  couldn't  tell  him  that.  I  shall  run.  I 
have  given  my  word  and  I  must  stick  to  it.  It's  a  good 
cause,  and  I  mean  to  win  if  there's  such  a  thing  possible 
— yes,  even  against  your  father.  He  has  no  right  to 
let  this  thing  come  between  you  and  me,  and  if  he  takes 
that  attitude,  why,  we'll  have  to  make  the  best  of  it, 
that's  all.  I  can't  give  in. 

ANGIE.  He's  just  bluffing,  and  I  guess  before  I'd  let  that 

old Oh,  excuse  me,  Helen,  I  forgot  he  was  your 

father.  But  I  don't  care  if  he  is — he  has  no  right  to 
separate  you  from  the  man  you  love.  Love  is  a  very 
sacred  thing,  and — and 

HELEN.  I  know  it  is,  and  I  wouldn't  give  up  Seth  for  the 
whole  world — no,  I  wouldn't,  Seth  ! — (he  hugs  her)  but 
— but  I  can't  hold  out  against  father.  I  just  couldn't. 

SETH.  No,  dear;  but  "Love  will  find  the  way,"  you 
know. 

ANGIE.  Sure  it  will.  "  Where  there's  a  will "  Maybe 

if  you  don't  win,  Seth,  he'll 

SETH.  Ho  !  What  a  little  comforter  you  are  !  But  I  shall 
win — if  I  can — and  if  I  do,  what  then  ?  (To  HELEN.) 
Lose  you  ?  Well,  I  guess  not.  Leave  that  to  me. 

HELEN.  But,  Seth,  I — I'm  afraid.  I  must  obey  father. 
If  he  tells  me  not  to — not  to  see  you — what  shall  I  do  ? 
I  can't  live  if  I  don't — oh,  Seth,  I  just  can't ! — and  if  I 
do Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear  ! 

( Breaks  down  and  weeps.     SETH  puts  his  arm  about  her, 
comforting  her.~) 

23 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


ANGIE.  My  goodness,  this  is  no  place  for  me.  "Two's 
company,  three's  one  too  many."  I'll  be  going.  (R.) 
But  don't  give  up.  I  wouldn't.  If  anything  should 
come  between  me  and — I  mean  between  Alan  and 
me Why,  hello,  Dan. 

{Enter  DAN,  R.  ;  sees  HELEN  in  SETH'S  arms,  puts  hands 
over  eyes.) 

DAN.  Whew  !  I  didn't  see  nothin'.  'F  I  did,  I  wouldn't 
tell.  Trust  me. 

(SETH  and  HELEN  separate,  she  in  confusion.  ANGIE,  R.  ; 
SETH,  R.  c. ;  HELEN,  c. ;  DAN  up  by  table,  laying  down 
several  letters.) 

SETH.     Got  the  mail,  Dan  ? 

DAN.     Yep.     And  you've  got  the  female,  looks  like. 

SETH.  Don't  get  fresh,  young  man.  (To  HELEN  and 
ANGIE.)  He's  spoiled,  you  see.  Reads  too  many  dime 
novels. 

DAN.     S'pose  you'd  rather  read  love  stories  ? 

SETH.     That'll  do  for  you.     Skip  ! 

HELEN.  Oh,  no;  we're  going  now.  At  least,  I  must. 
I'm  afraid  I  shan't  see  you  again  very  soon,  Seth,  if 
you  stick  to  your  determination.  If  you  would  only 
give  it  up. 

SETH.  Would  you  want  me  to  do  that — to  forsake  prin 
ciple — fall  from  my  standard  of  right  ?  No,  I'm  sure 
you  wouldn't.  You  couldn't  love  a  man  who  would 
do  that. 

HELEN.  N-no,  of — of  course  I — I  suppose  I  couldn't. 
But — oh,  I  don't  know — I  feel  as  if  there  was  nothing 
bright  ahead — as  if  there  is  nothing  to  live  for 

ANGIE.  Oh,  pshaw  !  There's  heaps.  "Never  say  die"  is 
my  motto.  Well,  if  you're  going,  come  on. 

(ANGIE  goes  R.,  starts  back,  in  alarm,     SETH  and  HELEN 
are  c.,  close  together,  DAN  ///  by  desk.) 

DAN  (also  looking  off  R.).     Whoop  !     Separate !     Here 

comes 

ANGIE.     Your   father,    Helen, — coming    back.     He   must 

have  seen  you  come  in  here.     Run  and  hide. 
HELEN.     Where — where  ?     (Starts  L.)     I'll  go  in  here. 
SETH.     No — don't.     Don't  do  that ;  stay  here.     Helen  I 

24 


TEE  VILLAGE  LA  WYER 


(She,  too  frightened  to  obey  him,  runs  off  L.,  just  as  DAVID 
hurries  in  R.) 

DAVID.  Where's  my  daughter?  (Looks  about.)  I  saw  her 
come  in  here.  (To  SETH.)  Where  have  you  hidden 
her?  You'd  better  produce  her.  Where  is  she  ? 

SETH  (motioning  L.).  She  is  there,  Mr.  Conant.  She  ran 
in  there  in  spite  of  my  attempt  to  detain  her.  I  will 
call  her. 

(Goes  L.,  disappears  a  moment,  returns  leading  HELEN, 
who  is  trembling,  standing  L.  with  drooping  head.) 

DAVID.  So  !  A  pretty  situation,  isn't  it  ?  Concealing  my 
daughter  and  trying  to  keep  her  from  me.  That's  the 
kind  of  man  you  are.  (To  HELEN,  sternly.)  Come 
here. 

SETH.     You  misjudge  me — you  know  it 

DAVID.  Don't  waste  words  trying  to  explain.  I  can  believe 
my  own  eyes.  (To  HELEN.)  Go  !  Go  home,  at  once. 
I  will  deal  with  you  later. 

ANGIE.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Mr.  David 
Conant.  You're  just  as  hard-hearted  and  unjust  as 
you  can  be.  If  you  were  my  father 

SETH.     Angie !     Hush 

DAVID  (glaring  at  her).  If  I  were  your  father  you'd  have 
some  decency  and  manners  instead  of  being  an  impu 
dent  little  flirt,  as  you  are.  Maybe  if  Helen  hadn't 
had  so  much  to  do  with  you 

HELEN  (suddenly  gaining  courage,  forgetting  her  fear  of 
him  and  for  a  moment  flaring  up  desperately).  Father  ! 
How  can  you  speak  so  to  Angie  ?  She  is  not  a  flirt, 
and  she  is  my  friend  !  She's  not  what  you  say,  and 
she  never — never — influenced  me  or  made  me 

DAVID.  Silence !  How  dare  you  speak  to  me  like  that  ? 
Go,  I  say 

HELEN.  No,  father,  I  can't — (as  he  threatens  her)  I  won't, 
not  till  I  have  told  you  the  truth.  You  have  no  right 
to  misjudge  her  and — and  Seth  !  I  went  in  that  room 
of  my  own  accord — when  he  told  me  not  to — because 
I  was  afraid  of  you — of  my  own  father — but  I  don't 
care  what  you  say,  nor  what  you  do  to  me,  you  shan't 
accuse  him  of  such  things.  He  is  good  and  noble  and 
true,  and  I — I — love  him,  and — and 

25 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


(She  wavers,  breaks  down,  sobbing  hysterically.     SETH  goes 
to  her,  as  if  to  comfort,  but  DAVID  steps  between  them.) 

DAVID.  Stand  back  !  So  this  is  what  my  daughter  has 
come  to,  through  you  and  (to  ANGIE)  through  you. 
It's  worse  than  I  thought;  but  I'm  glad  I  have  found 
it  out  in  time.  (To  SETH.)  Perhaps  I  shall  have  more 
to  say  to  you  on  this  subject  another  time.  (To  HELEN.) 
Come. 

HELEN.  But,  father,  I — I  didn't  mean — I — forgive  me  ! 

I  forgot — I Oh,  don't  blame  him.  It  was  all  my 

fault.  (Turns  to  SETH,  imploringly.)  Don't  let  him 
blame  you.  It  was  my  fault.  I 

DAVID  (his  arm  about  her,  leading  her  R.,  firmly  but  with 
a  slight  show  of  tenderness).  That  will  do.  (She 
sobs.)  You'll  find  you  can't  defy  me.  (To  SETH,  as 
he  pauses  R.)  And  as  for  you — perhaps  you'll  realize 
the  same  thing — before  I  get  through  with  you. 

(He  goes  out  R.,  sternly  motioning  HELEN  to  follow  him  ; 
she  does  so,  tearfully,  looking  back  at  SETH  with  a 
sad  smile  and  a  despairing  shake  of  her  head.  SETH 
stands  c.,  almost  crushed ;  ANGIE  goes  up  and  looks 
off 'R.,  indignantly.  DAN  up  by  desk,  silently  express 
ing  his  hatred  for  DAVID.  ANGIE  comes  back  to  SETH.) 

ANGIE.  Oh,  Seth,  I'm  so  sorry.  Why — why  don't  you 
give  it  up — the  nomination — those  old  politics 

SETH  (smiling  down  at  her,  tenderly  stroking  her  head). 
Give  up?  No — no,  little  one;  never!  {With fervor, 
clenching  his  fist  and  looking  boldly  toward  R.)  No — 
no  !  That  man  is  a  demagogue — a  tyrant !  He's  got 
to  be  beaten — crushed — and  1— mean — to — do — it ! 

{He  stands  looking  R.,  with  a  set,  determined  expression, 
not  noticing  ANGIE,  who  clings  to  him,  looking  up  at 
him  with  a  hopeful  smile.  DAN,  at  back,  shows  his 
approbation  by  giving  a  silent  "Hurrah  /  "  waving  his 
right  hand  over  head.) 


CURTAIN 


ACT  II 

SCENE. — Same  as  Act  I,  in  the  afternoon,  about  a  week 
later.  Discover  DAN,  actively  engaged  brushing  up 
floor  with  broom.  He  sweeps  toward  door  R.,  giving 
the  broom  a  flourish  almost  in  the  face  of  DAVID,  who 
enters  hurriedly.  DAN  falls  back  with  an  apology ; 
DAVID  glares  at  him. 

DAVID,  What  you  trying  to  do  ?  Why  don't  you  tend  to 
your  business  and  see  what  you're  doing  ? 

(Goes  to  desk,  taking  up  telephone.) 

DAN.  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Conant.  Awful  sorry;  never  saw 
y'.  (Takes  broom  L.) 

DAVID.  Well,  the  next  time  pay  more  attention.  I  want 
to  use  your  'phone  a  minute.  (Calls  up  on  'phone.) 
Give  me  265  Main.  (Pause.}  Yes,  yes — Main  265. 
(To  DAN.)  Say,  boy,  run  down  to  the  store,  will  you, 
and  get  me  four  five-cent  cigars — Birch  knows  what 
kind  I  smoke.  (Takes  quarter  from  pocket,  giving  it 
to  DAN.)  Here's  a  quarter.  You  can  keep  the  change. 

DAN.     Thanks.     You  watch  the  office  ? 

DAVID.  Sure.  (In' phone.)  Hello!  Is  Miss  Underwood 
there — Miss  Isabel  Underwood?  (Pause.)  Hello — 
yes.  Oh,  is  that  Miss  Underwood  ?  (He  pauses  each 
time  long  enough  for  other  person  to  speak)  Yes,  this 
is  Mr.  Conant.  All  right.  I  am  in  Mr.  Barrett's  office 
now.  Yes.  Well,  suppose  you  come  right  down  here. 
They'll  tell  you  the  way  there  at  the  hotel.  It's  only  a 
step.  All  right.  Thanks.  Good-bye.  (Puts  down 
'phone,  turns,  sees  JAMES  FERGUSON  looking  in  window.) 
Oh,  hello,  Jim ;  come  on  in.  You're  just  the  man  I 
wanted  to  see. 

(DAVID  rises,  goes  c. ;  enter  JAMES,  R.) 

JAMES.     What's  the  news  ? 
DAVID.     She's  here  ! 
JAMES.     What  I  the  woman  ? 

27 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


DAVID.  Yes.  Just  arrived  this  morning.  She's  at  the 
hotel  now.  That's  her  I  was  talking  to  over  the 
'phone.  I  sent  the  boy  out  after  some  cigars,  so  he 
wouldn't  hear.  He's  a  pretty  bright  kid  and  might 
catch  on  to  something. 

JAMES.     Think  she'll  be  equal  to  it? 

DAVID.  What!  that  woman?  Sure.  It's  a  cinch.  I  had 
a  long  talk  with  her  when  I  was  in  New  York  last  week 
and  found  her  up  to  snuff.  Those  actresses  will  do 
anything  for  money,  and  she's  dead  set  after  our  five 
hundred,  all  right.  Tells  a  straight  story,  too.  Oh, 
she's  got  the  goods,  and  it  won't  take  her  long  to  put 
the  quietus  on  Barrett  and  give  him  such  a  black  eye 
that  he'll  be  out  of  the  running. 

JAMES  (looking  about,  out  of  door,  etc.}.  Where  is  he 
now  ? 

DAVID.  Out  electioneering,  I  guess.  The  boy  says  he 
drove  over  to  Barleyville  this  morning  and  said  he'd 
be  back  toward  night.  She's  coming  here  to  talk  it 
over. 

JAMES.     Who — the  woman  ? 

DAVID.  Sure — the  woman.  I  told  her  to  come  right  down. 
We'll  fix  it  all  up  right  here,  if  we  can  get  rid  of  the 
boy. 

JAMES.  Kind  o'  resky  business,  ain't  it — right  in  his  own 
office? 

DAVID  (laughing  coarsely).  Well,  maybe  'tis.  Guess  we'd 
better  go  down  to  my  office,  come  to  think  of  it ;  but  I 
kind  o'  wanted  to  have  her  here  and  spring  her  on 
Barrett,  if  we  could.  But  I  guess  there's  time  enough 
for  that.  We'll  wait  here  till  she  comes,  though.  Be 
right  here. 

JAMES.     She  knew  him,  did  she  ?     Got  a  straight  story  ? 

DAVID.  Straight  ?  The  truth.  Of  course,  embellished  up 
a  bit.  But  she  got  acquainted  with  Barrett  when  he 
was  in  college.  He  was  pretty  gay  with  the  rest  of 
'em,  and  they  got  pretty  thick.  Seems  he  made  love 
to  her — paid  her  lots  of  attention  for  a  while,  and — 
m'm — well,  she  got  a  hold  on  him  somehow  or  other, 
threatened  him  with  suit  for  breach  of  promise,  or 
something  like  that — got  some  money  out  of  him — and 
— well,  it's  all  straight  enough. 

JAMES.     Sure  it  wasn't  anything  like— blackmail  ? 

28 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


DAVID.  No,  of  course  it  wasn't.  If  I  thought  it  was,  do 
you  suppose  I'd  have  anything  to  do  with  it  ?  I  just 
got  onto  it  by  chance  —  a  stroke  of  luck  —  and  I  tell  you 
it  was  luck,  too.  It'll  be  the  means  of  beating  him, 
and  that's  what  we've  got  to  do.  If  Seth  Barrett  ever 
got  elected  District  Attorney  —  well,  good-bye  to  us. 
We  can't  afford  to  let  that  happen. 

JAMES.  No,  I  guess  you  can't,  Conant.  It'd  put  a  crimp 
on  your  political  career  all  right. 

DAVID.  Mine?  And  a  few  others,  I  calculate.  Don't  for 
get,  Ferguson,  it  means  your  bread  and  butter,  too. 

JAMES.  Bread  and  butter  ?  Yes,  and  that's  about  all. 
But  with  you  it  means  houses  and  lots,  automobiles, 
trips  to  Europe,  and  such  like. 

DAVID.  Oh,  come  now,  don't  begin  that.  You  get  your 
share  for  what  you  do.  (Sees  tf^R.)  Here  comes  the 
kid.  Not  a  word  now  before  him. 

JAMES.     Sure.     But  what  if  the  woman  - 

DAVID.     I'll  fix  that;  don't  you  worry. 

(Enter  DAN,  R.,  with  cigars,  which  he  gives  to  DAVID.) 

DAN.     Here  they  are,  Mr.  Conant. 

DAVID.  Thanks.  {Gives  one  of  the  cigars  to  JAMES,  as  he 
glances  off  R.,  motioning  to  JAMES,  who  follows  his 
gaze.'}  By  the  way,  Dan,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  to  get  me 
some  postage  stamps,  too.  (Takes  quarter  from 
pocket.)  Run  down  to  the  post-  office  and  get  me 
some,  will  you  ?  —  ten  twos.  Keep  the  nickel. 

DAN  (taking  money).  Well,  y*  know,  I  was  supposed  to 
look  after  the  office,  and  - 

DAVID.  Oh,  that's  all  right.  It  won't  take  you  but  a 
minute,  and  we'll  see  to  things.  Skip  along. 

DAN.     All  right. 


DAN,   R.  ;    DAVID  looks  after  him.     He  is  R.  c.  ; 
JAMES,  L.  c.) 

DAVID.     Here  she  comes. 

JAMES  (looking  off  K.~).     Gee!  she's  a  stunner,  ain't  she  ? 

DAVID.     Yes,  and  she  knows  her  business,  too. 

{Enter  ISABEL  UNDERWOOD,  R.  ;  she  is  somewhat  flashily 
dressed,  though  still  in  good  taste.      Goes  effusively  to 
DAVID,  offering  her  hand.} 
29 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


ISABEL.  Ah,  Mr.  Conant.  How  nice  to  see  you  again.  I 
hope  you  are  well  ? 

DAVID.     Yes,  thank  you,  Miss  Underwood.     And  you  ? 

ISABEL.  Very  well,  thank  you,  and  I  am  sure  this  delight 
ful  country  air  will  be  most  beneficial.  It  is  so — so 
invigorating,  you  know,  and 

(Pauses ,  looking  at  JAMES.) 

DAVID.     Permit  me  to  introduce  Mr.  Ferguson — Miss  Isabel 

Underwood. 
JAMES.     Charmed  to  meet  you,  I  am  sure. 

(She  smiles,  shaking  hands  rather  ceremoniously  with  JAMES 
with  an  enquiring  look  at  DAVID.) 

DAVID.     This  is  the  gentleman  I  told  you  about — my  right 

hand    man.     He    understands   everything   and — well, 

you  need  have  no  hesitation  about  speaking  before  him. 

We  three  are  the  only  ones  so  far. 
ISABEL.     I  see.     (To  JAMES.)     I  am  pleased  to  know  you, 

Mr.  Ferguson. 
JAMES  (bowing  with  a  crude  attempt  at  courtliness'}.     Same 

here,  I'm  sure,  ma'am. 
ISABEL  (smiling,  as  if  amused).     The  amount,  I  believe, 

gentlemen,  was  to  be  five  hundred  dollars 

DAVID.     Yes,  that's  the  sum  we  agreed  upon. 

ISABEL.     Payable ? 

DAVID.     Half  now,  or  as  soon  as  you  have — er — convinced 

us  that  you  have  the  goods,  and — the  remainder  if  he 

is  defeated. 
ISABEL.     Very  well.     I  shall  earn  the  half  at  once — as  soon 

as  I  have  met  the  man.     Where  is  he  ? 
DAVID.     Out   of  town  just  at   present,   but  will   be  back 

shortly.     In   the   meantime,   perhaps   we'd   better  go 

down  to  my  office  and  talk  matters  over. 
ISABEL.     Oh,  then  this  is  not  your  office  ? 
DAVID.     N-no,  it — it  is  his. 
ISABEL  (laughing).     Indeed  !     How  original  !     Planning  a 

man's  ruin  in  his  own  bailiwick.     Dear  me,  but  that 

seems  the  irony  of  fate,  doesn't  it? 
JAMES.     Seems  cheeky,  t'  my  way  of  thinking. 
DAVID.     Oh,  it's  too  bad  about  that.     But  I  guess  you  two'd 

better  go  on  down  to  my  office,  and  I'll  follow  as  soon 

as  the  kid  comes  back. 

3° 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


JAMES.     All  right. 

(ISABEL  walks  to  R.,  followed  by  JAMES.     They  pause,  as 
MRS.  D.  suddenly  rushes  in  R. ) 

MRS.  D.  Oh,  excuse  me — I  didn't  know •  (Stares  at 

ISABEL  in  surprise,  then  turns  to  DAVID.)  I  come  to 
see  Seth  Barrett.  {Nods  toward  ISABEL.)  Didn't 
know  he  had  s'  much  grand  comp'ny. 

DAVID  (motioning  to  JAMES  to  go  on  ;  JAMES  and  ISABEL  go 
off  R.,  she  looking  back  curiously  at  MRS.  D.,  then  with 
a  nod  at  DAVID,  who  returns  if).  He  drove  over  to 
Barleyville.  Be  back  some  time  this  afternoon. 

MRS.  D.     Where's  Dan  ? 

DAVID.  He  just  ran  down  to  the  post-office  for  me.  Be 
right  back. 

MRS.  D.  (going  and  taking  chair  L.  C.).  Who's  all  that, 
just  in  here — that  woman  ? 

DAVID.  A  stranger,  I  believe,  who  stopped  to  enquire  her 
way,  and  Mr.  Ferguson  volunteered  to  show  her. 

MRS.  D.  Oh,  he  did?  I  guess  "  her  way "  don't  need 
much  showin',  from  the  looks  of  her.  If  she  ain't  able 
to  make  her  own  way,  I'll  miss  my  guess.  I  never  saw 
such  a  fussed-up  thing.  City  boarder,  I  suppose? 
Stoppin'  at  the  hotel  ? 

DAVID.  I  believe  so.  I  didn't  enquire  into  her  business. 
Leave  that  for  you  to  do. 

MRS.  D.  Oh,  you  will  ?  Well,  it  seems  t'  me,  Dave 
Conant,  that  was  a  pretty  knowin'  look  she  give  you  as 
she  went  out.  I  reckon  she's  the  kind  it  don't  take 
long  t'  get  acquainted — with  a  man. 

{Enter  DAN,  R.,  with  stamps,  which  he  gives  to  DAVID.) 

DAVID.      Much   obliged.       (Goes   R.)      Still   interviewing 

lawyers,  Mrs.  Dill  ? 
MRS.  D.     Still  'tendin'  to  my  own  business,  Mr.   Conant. 

S'pose  you  follow  my  example. 
DAVID   (laughing,  as  if  she  were  not  worth  noticing).     All 

right.     Kind  of  afraid  I  won't  succeed,  though,  if  I  go 

about  it  the  way  you  do.     Tell  Barrett  I  was  here,  Dan, 

and  want  to  see  him  to-night. 

(Exit,  R.) 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


DAN.  The  old  skunk  !  I  d'  know  what  he  wants  t'  hang 
around  here  for.  (Up  by  desk.)  Not  after  another 
divorce,  are  you,  Mis'  Dill  ? 

MRS.  D.  None  of  y'r  impudence,  young  man.  I  was  jest 
down  to  the  store  'n'  thought  I'd  stop  in  V  see  how 
Seth's  gettin'  along  with  his  politics.  Hope  he'li  get 
elected,  but  I  tell  you  it  won't  be  no  easy  job  t'  beat 
Dave  Conant — such  a  man  as  he  is.  He's  be'n  boss 
around  here  too  long  t'  give  up  without  a  big  fight. 
He'll  do  anything  on  earth  t'  keep  his  hold.  Who's 
that  woman  'twas  here  jest  now  ? 

DAN.  That  one  't  jest  went  down  the  street  with  Mr. 
Ferguson  'n'  Mr.  Conant  ?  Don't  know.  Looks 
some  like  a  city  boarder.  Ain't  she  stopping  at  your 
house  ? 

MRS.  D.  No,  she  ain't.  Never  saw  her  b'fore.  But  y' 
needn't  tell  me  Dave  Conant  didn't.  That  look  she 
give  him  meant  somethin'.  Kind  of  a  flighty  sort  o' 
creature,  's  my  opinion.  {Goes  R.)  Wai,  guess  I'll 
be  gett'n'  along.  What  time  y'  expect  Seth  back  ? 

DAN  (by  window,  looking  out).  D'  know.  Pretty  soon,  I 
guess.  (Calls  to  some  one  outside.)  Hello!  Come 
on  in. 

MRS.  D.  (looking).  Who  is  it?  Oh,  Angie,  with  Mr. 
Spencer.  She's  jest  crazy  about  him.  I  should  think 
her  brother 

{Enter  ANGIE  and  ALAN  SPENCER,  R.,  laughing,  both  in  a 
very  happy  mood.) 

ANGIE.  Good-afternoon,  Mrs.  Dill.  Alan — Mr.  Spencer 
— and  I  are  talking  about  getting  up  a  little  picnic 
party,  and  we  stopped  in  to  see  if  Seth  wouldn't  go. 
Isn't  he  here,  Dan  ? 

DAN.     No.     Ain't  got  back  from  Barleyville  yet. 

MRS.  D.  I  guess  Seth  Barrett's  got  something  else  t'  do  be 
sides  goin*  t'  picnics.  Didn't  you  know  he's  runnin' 
for  District  Attorney  ? 

ANGIE.     Why,  yes,  but 

ALAN.     I  hope  he  gets  elected.     Don't  you,  Mrs.  Dill? 

MRS.  D.  Of  course  I  do.  Anything  t'  get  the  best  o* 
Dave  Conant.  But  1  guess  Seth'll  find  that  ain't  no 
picnic. 

32 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


ALAN.  I  don't  know — a  young  man  as  popular  as  Mr. 
Barrett  seems  to  be 

MRS.  D.  Popular  1  Yes,  but  what's  bein'  popular  com 
pared  to  the  hold  Dave  Conant's  got,  'n'  his  kind  o' 
followers?  Him  and  that  Jim  Ferguson  !  What  they 
ain't  up  to  I  guess  never  was  thought  of.  (Goes  R.) 
Wai,  I'll  be  gitt'n'  along,  'r  you  folks  won't  git  no  sup 
per,  Mr.  Spencer,  'n'  i  guess  that  interests  you  more'n 
politics. 

ALAN.  Why,  Mrs.  Dill,  do  I  act  so  ravenous  ?  But  then, 
you  know,  this  country  air — and  all  the  good  things 
you  give  us 

MRS.  D.  Land,  I  don't  begrutch  y'.  Glad  t'  see  y'  eat. 
Compliment  t'  my  cookin'.  {Looks  off  R.)  If 
here  don't  come  my  Sam  !  Land,  he  tollers  me  around 
like  a  pet  dog.  Can't  git  out  of  his  sight  a  minute. 

ANGIE.     You  ought  to  appreciate  such  devotion,  Mrs.  Dill. 

MRS.  D.  Devotion  ?  Huh  1  1  call  it  a  nuisance.  Al 
ways  pokin'  under  foot. 

{Enter  SAM,  R.) 

SAM.  Oh,  here  you  be,  Janey  dear.  Kind  o'  missed 
y' (Sees  the  others.}  How  d'  do  ? 

(They  return  his  salutation.) 

MRS.  D.     Land,  don't  y'  think  I  know  the  way  home? 

You   might   better    'a'    stayed   there  'n'  peeled   them 

p'taters. 
SAM.     Got  'em  all  peeled.     'N'  mopped  up  the  kitchen,  'n1 

swatted  some  flies,  'n' — grated  some  horse-radish. 
ANGIE.     There,  Mrs.  Dill,  I  guess  you  can't  say  he  hasn't 

been  busy. 
MRS.  D.     No,   Sam,   you've  done  pretty  well,  I  guess,  if 

you've  done  all  that.     You're  quite  a  help  lately,  I  must 

say.  Come  on,  now,  'n'  we'll  be  gitt'n'  home.  (  Going. ) 
SAM.  Guess  I'll  stay  down  street  a  while.  Can't  I,  Jane  ? 
MRS.  D.  Wai,  don't  you  stay  too  long,  then,  'cause  1  want 

you  t'  help  git  supper.     Land  knows,  with  city  boarders, 

'n'  no  hired  girl (To  DAN.)     When  Seth  comes, 

you  tell  him  I  want  t'  see  him  about  somethin' 

SAM  (ivho  is  R.,   close  to  her — sentimentally).       N-not  a 

divorce,  Jane  ? 

33 


TEE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


MRS.  D.  No,  of  course  not.  The  idee !  You  know  bet 
ter,  Sam  Dill.  I've  got  somethin'  else  b'sides  divorces 
t'  think  about  jest  at  present.  Mebbe  I'll  git  back  to 
the  luxuries  agin  when  my  rush  is  over. 

(Exit,  R.) 

SAM  (chuckling).  Jestjokin'.  We've  made  it  all  up.  Ain't 
had  a  spat  f'r  'most  a  week — not  a  real,  old-fashioned 
one.  (Goes  R.)  Guess  I'll  be  goin'  on  down  street. 
Want  t'  see  what's  the  news. 

ALAN.  Do  you  think  Mr.  Barrett  is  going  to  be  elected,  Mr. 
Dill? 

ANGIE.     Oh,  do  say  "  yes,"  Mr.  Dill ! 

SAM.  Might  say  it,  but  that  wouldn't  make  it  so.  Hope  he 
does.  He'll  have  my  vote,  but — wal,  when  it  comes  t' 
beat'n'  Dave  Conant  !  But  y'  can't  tell.  The  tide 
may  turn.  Like  t'  see  him  git  the  worst  of  it,  b'  gosh  ! 
But  't's  kind  o*  dubious. 

(Exit,  R.,  shaking  head.') 

(DAN  is  up  by  desk,  or  busy  about  stage.     ANGIE  sits  L., 
ALAN  is  c.) 

ALAN.  This  Mr.  Conant  must  be  a  powerfully  influential 
man. 

ANGIE.  Yes,  I  suppose  he  is.  At  any  rate,  he  seems  to  be 
a  sort  of — a  sort  of  political  czar,  in  this  county.  He's 
had  his  way  so  long,  and  nobody  of  any  account  has 
run  against  him,  that — well,  now  that  Seth's  been  put 
up  as  his  opponent,  and  the  Democrats  have  gone  in  to 
work  for  him  as  if  determined  he  should  win, — why,  I 
guess  Mr.  Conant  begins  to  have  a  little  fear  that  rrs 
power  is  waning,  and  that  Seth  really  may  beat  him. 
But  I  don't  know.  It  seems  almost  too  good  to  be  true. 

DAN.     Don't  you  believe  it.     Mr.  Barrett's  goin'  to  win. 

ALAN.  That's  the  way  to  look  at  it.  Just  say  he  is.  I  be 
lieve  in  that. 

ANGIE.  Oh,  yes,  that's  all  right.  I  believe  in  being  that 
way,  too,  but — well,  you  see,  I  don't  believe  Mr. 
Conant  would  stop  at  anything  to  beat  Seth,  and — he 
— has  already  told  Helen  that  she  mustn't  speak  to  him 
any  more  or  have  anything  to  do  with  him.  You 
know,  she  and  Seth 

34 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


ALAN.  Yes.  Last  summer  when  I  was  here,  I  thought  it 
was  about  settled. 

ANGIE.  So  it  was.  But  now  —  Oh,  dear,  it's  terrible. 
And  Helen's  so  afraid,  and  of  course  Seth  doesn't  like 
to  set  her  against  her  own  father,  he  isn't  that  kind  of 
fellow,  and Oh,  dear,  I  don't  see  how  it's  com 
ing  out  !  Of  course,  I  want  Seth  to  do  what's  right, 
and  help  his  party,  and  all  that,  but — I  do  wish  he'd 
give  up  those  horrid  politics.  It  seems  to  me  getting 
the  one  you  love  is  better  than  being  elected  to  all  the 
offices  in  the  world. 

(Almost  in  tears,  but  trying  to  be  cheerful.) 

ALAN  (standing  by  her,  putting  his  hand  on  her^ shoulder). 
That's  what  I  think,  too,  dear,  but  you  know  a  man 
has  to  stick  to  principle  and — don't  you  think  she 
would  have  him  anyway,  in  spite  of  her  father? 

ANGIE.  She  couldn't.  You  don't  know  that  man.  He's 
capable  of  locking  her  up — or  putting  her  in  a  convent 
— or  anything.  He's  a  regular  tyrant,  and  Helen — she 
hasn't  a  bit  of  courage.  Now,  if  it  was  me — I  mean 
«I  » 

ALAN.     What  would  you  do,  dear  ? 

(He  bends  over  her  affectionately.) 

ANGIE.     Why,  I— I 

DAN.  Excuse  me  !  If  you  want  t'  do  any  spooning, 
maybe  I'd  better  vamoose. 

ANGIE.     Dan  ! 

DAN.  Aw, — well,  you  two  make  me  sick  !  You  can  stay 
here  V  mush ;  I'm  going  out  'n'  buy  "  Ferocious 
Fred's  Fatal  Fight"  with  the  ten  cents  Mr.  Conant 
give  me.  (Goes  R.)  Be  back  in  a  minute.  You  two 
keep  an  eye  on  things  'n'  do  all  the  spoonin'  you  want 
t'.  'S  nobuddy  'round. 

(Exit,  R.) 

ANGIE  (blushing).     Isn't  he  terrible  ? 
ALAN.     I  don't  know  about  that.     I  think  he's  a  pretty  sen 
sible  boy,  and  a  very  accommodating  one. 

(She  sits  on  chair  c. ;  he  pushes  her  along  a  little  and  sits 
on  edge  of  chair  beside  her.     Puts  arm  around  her.) 

35 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


ANGIE.     Oh,  Alan ! 

ALAN  (bending  over,  looking  up  into  her  face).     D-don't 

you  think  you  could  give  me  that — er — that  kiss  now  ? 
ANGIE  (turning  her  head  away,  in  confusion}.     The  idea  ! 

Of  course  not.     It  wouldn't  be  right. 
ALAN.     Why,  I — I  think  it  would  be  right,  all  right.     If 

you  won't  give  it  to  me,  what  if  I  should  help  myself? 
ANGIE.     Well,  of  course,  I — a  big  strong  man  like  you.     I 

just  suppose  I  couldn't  help   myself (Makes  a 

pretense  at  rising  as  he  attempts  to  kiss  her.)     You 

— mustn't ! 
ALAN.     But  I  must !     I  simply  can't  help  it. 

(She  still  continues  a  pretense  of  trying  to  escape,  but  in 
reality  submits,  and  he  kisses  her,  just  as  SETH  enters 
R.  He  stands  a  moment  watching  them,  at  first  sur 
prised,  then  with  a  stern,  disapproving  look.) 

SETH  (coming  down,  speaking  sternly).  Well !  Is  this 
what  has  been  going  on  in  my  absence  ?  Angle,  come 
here! 

(ANGIE  and  ALAN  spring  up,  he  confused,  but  standing  his 
ground  ;  she  in  great  perturbation,  going  and  standing 
by  SETH,  almost  in  tears,  looking  pleadingly  at  him.) 

ALAN.     Mr.  Barrett — I  hope 

SETH.  I  thought  I  could  trust  you,  Mr.  Spencer.  I  thought 
you  were  a  gentleman — an  honest  one. 

ALAN.  I  hope  I  am,  Mr.  Barrett.  Perhaps  I  forgot  myself 
for  the  moment,  but — you  know  what  my  feelings  are 
toward  your  sister,  I  think,  and  my  intentions.  If  you 
will  listen  to  me,  I  think  I  can  justify  myself 

SETH.  I  prefer  to  listen  to  nothing  more  on  the  subject  at 
present.  You  will  kindly  leave  us.  We  can  talk  this 
matter  over  another  time. 

ANGIE  (her  hand  on  his  arm,  pleadingly).  Oh,  Seth,  don't 
— don't  send  him  away  ! 

SETH  (affectionately,  but  with  firmness).  Hush,  dear;  I 
am  not  sending  him  away — I  am  asking  him  to  go,  and 
I  am  sure  he  will  do  as  I  request.  This  is  no  place  for 
such  a  scene,  Mr.  Spencer,  and  no  time.  You  should 
have  known  that. 

ALAN  (about  to  go).     I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Barrett;    I  forgot 

36 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


myself.  I  will  do  as  you  request,  but  I  shall  yet  be 
able  to  convince  you  of  my  worthiness,  I  hope,  and 
of  my  honesty.  Good-bye,  Angie — Miss  Barrett — 

and (  To  SETH.)  May  I  come  and  see  you,  Mr. 

Barrett — soon  ? 

SETH.     Yes. 

ALAN.     Thank  you.     (  With  a  dignified  bow,  exits  R.) 

ANGIE.  Oh,  Seth,  how  could  you?  You  have  offended 
him,  and  he  may  go  away  and  I — never — see — him — 
again  !  (  Weeps.) 

SETH  {puffing  an  arm  about  her,  comfortingly).  There, 
there,  little  one !  If  his  intentions  are  honorable  and 
he  really  loves  you,  he  won't  go  away ;  never  fear. 
Don't  you  know  1  have  to  look  out  for  the  welfare  of 
my  little  sister,  to  whom  I  have  been  both  father  and 
mother  for  six  years  ?  You  hardly  know  this  young 
man  from  the  city — and  his  type.  Mind  you,  I  don't 
say  there  is  anything  wrong  with  him — to  the  contrary, 
I  like  him  myself — but  to  make  love  to  you,  to  kiss  you, 
here,  where  anybody  might  see — and  before  he  had 
asked  my  consent — no,  that's  too  much.  Oh,  I  know 
how  you  feel,  and  I'm  sorry  to  hurt  your  feelings,  but 

you  are  infatuated  and But  there,  we  won't  say 

any  more  about  it  at  present.  (Goes  up  to  desk,  looks 
over  letters  he  finds  there,  etc,)  Where's  Dan? 

ANGIE.  Why — Alan — Mr.  Spencer — and  I  were  here,  so 
he  said  he  guessed  he'd  run  out  and — and  buy  a  di — 
something.  He'll  be  right  back. 

SETH.     I  see.     Bright  lawyer  that  boy's  going  to  make * 

{Enter   DAN,  R.  ;  when  he  sees  SETH  he  hides  paper  novel 
under  coat.) 

DAN.     Oh,  you  back,  Mr.  Barrett  ?     I  just  ran  out 

SETH.     I  know.     (Holds  out  hand.)     Let's  see  what  this 

one's  about. 
DAN.     W-what? 

SETH.     Come  on,  now ;  let  me  see  it.     Fork  over. 
DAN  (reluctantly  handing  him  book).     Give  it  back? 
SETH  (examining  book).     "  Ferocious  Fred's "     M'm 

— that  looks  like  a  pretty  good  one.     Thanks. 

(Puts  book  in  pocket.) 

DAN.     Aw,  say,  now,  give  it  back.     Will  y'  ?    I  want  it. 

37 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


SETH.  Just  at  present,  young  man,  I  think  you'd  better  try 
to  digest  something  with  a  little  more  substance.  Here. 

(Hands  him  heavy  law  book.) 

DAN  (taking  book).     Aw,  that  dry  old  thing  ! 
SETH.     Not  another  word.     Sit.     Read. 

(Motions  to  chair ;  DAN  sits,  scowling ;  opens  book.) 

DAN  (sulkily,  reading).     Read  two  pages  yest'day. 

SETH.  Suppose  you  think  you  ought  to  be  a  full-fledged 
lawyer  by  this  time,  then.  Well,  a  few  more  pages 
won't  give  you  any  too  much  knowledge. 

ANGIE  (who  has  been  standing  L.,  looking  on,  somewhat 
amused  and  much  interested,  now  coming  to  c.).  I  think 
I'll  be  going,  Seth. 

SETH.  All  right,  dear.  No  hard  feelings,  I  hope,  toward 
your  big  brother  ? 

ANGIE  (going  to  him).  Why,  Seth,  of  course  not.  How 
could  there  be  ?  I  know  you  mean  it  for  my  good — 
you  know  best — and — I — I'll  do  just  as  you  say.  (He 
kisses  her  ;  she  goes  R.,  smiling,  is  about  to  exit,  when 
she  starts  and  comes  back)  Oh,  Seth — here  comes 
Helen  ! 

SETH  (rising).     Helen — here? 

ANGIE.     Yes. 

SETH.     She  shouldn't.     I'm  afraid  — 

(ANGIE  meets  HELEN,  who  enters  R.,  timidly,  but  with  some 
determination;  she  greets  ANGIE  affectionately,  then 
goes  to  SETH,  c.,  and  he  welcomes  her  gladly,  but  with 
some  trepidation.) 

HELEN.     Seth  !     I — I  had  to  come. 

SETH.     But    you    shouldn't,    dear.     You    know,   if  your 

father 

HELEN.     But  I  don't  care.     I  can't  stand  it  any  longer, 

and  I  won't.     He  has  no  right 

SETH.     Yes,  he  has,  dear,  and  you  must  respect  it.     We 

must  be  very  careful,  you  know. 
HELEN.     But  he  is  so  hard — so  cruel — and  I Oh, 

sometimes  I  think  I  almost  hate  him,  if  he  is  my  father. 

He  actually  threatened  to  lock  me  in  my  room  if — if  I 

spoke  to  you  again,  and 

33 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


SETH.  And  yet,  here  you  are,  speaking  to  me.  Helen,  you 
must  go  back  home ;  at  once,  before  he  knows,  if  pos 
sible.  That  is  the  best  way.  Yes,  dear,  you  must 
obey  him — for  my  sake  as  well  as  for  your  own.  Trust 
me.  It  will  all  come  out  right.  But  now — now  you 
must  be  very  careful,  dear,  and  help  me. 

HELEN.     Help  you,  Seth  ? 

SETH.  Yes.  I  need  your  help.  I  have  a  hard  struggle 
before  me — a  struggle,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  against  your 
father — but  it's  an  honest  fight.  1  have  entered  into  it, 
and  I  must  see  it  through. 

HELEN.     And  I  want  you  to  win,  Seth — if  he  is  my  father  ! 

SETH.  Thank  you,  dear ;  and  now  you  must  go  home,  as 
quickly  as  possible. 

HELEN.     All  right,  I  will. 

ANGIE  (who  has  stood  back,  now  coming  down}.  He's  been 
giving  me  advice — and  instructions — too,  Helen.  We 
seem  to  be  in  the  same  boat.  (Smiles •,  rather  sadly.) 

DAN  ( pretending  to  be  much  disturbed,  looking  up).  Gee  ! 
How's  a  fellow  goin'  t'  read  law  ? 

SETH.  It's  too  bad  about  you.  You  can  go  in  the  other 
room,  if  necessary. 

(Exit  DAN  L.,  taking  novel  and  leaving  law  book.") 

ANGIE  (going  R.).     Come  on,  Helen  ;  let's  escape  while  we 

have  a  chance. 
HELEN.     All  right.     (Going.)     Good-bye,  Seth.     I  shan't 

give  up  hope. 
SETH.     Of  course  you  won't — I  should  say  not !     While 

there's  life,  you  know — and  there's  still  plenty  of  it. 

Good-bye. 

(The  girls  affectionately  bid  him  good-bye  and  go  off  to  R. 
He  stands  by  desk,  takes  up  several  letters,  glances  at 
them  •  one  interests  him  very  much  and  he  becomes 
slightly  agitated ;  is  reading  it  when  ANGIE  enters  R. 
He  does  not  notice  her  until  she  speaks.) 

ANGIE.     Seth.     (Comes  to  R.  c. ;  SETH  c.) 

SETH.     Hello  !  you  back? 

ANGIE.     Yes.     Oh,  Seth,  you  aren't  really  mad  at  Alan — 

Mr.  Spencer — are  you  ? 
SETH.     Mad  ?     Why,  no,  of  course  not. 
ANGIE.     I  mean — you  aren't  down  on  him?    He  just  for- 

39 


TEE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


got,  that's  all,  when  he  tried  to — to — well,  you  know. 

He  is  a  gentleman,  Seth,  I  know  he  is,  and  I — I 

SETH  (putting  an  arm  about  her,  consolingly).  Yes,  dear, 
I  know,  and  don't  you  let  it  worry  your  poor  little 
head.  It  will  come  out  all  right.  If  he  is  worthy  of 
you,  he  will  prove  it,  and — well,  if  he's  worth  waiting 
for,  you  must  prove  you're  worthy  of  him  by  waiting  as 
I  wish  you  to  do.  Run  along  now,  that's  a  dear.  I 
have  lots  to  think  about  and  lots  to  do. 

(Looks  at  letter ',  with  a  worried  expression.) 

ANGIE.  What  is  it,  Seth  ?  Something  about  those  old 
politics  ?  Let  me  see  ?  (  Tries  to  look  at  letter. ) 

SETH.  No,  no,  it's  nothing  for  you  to  know  about.  You 
wouldn't  understand. 

ANGIE.     But  it's  in  that  letter,  isn't  it? 

SETH.  Yes.  It's  something  I  shouldn't  like  Mr.  Conantto 
get  hold  of,  that's  all.  Politics  mean  war,  you  know, 
and  this  is  a  sort  of  plan  of  the  campaign.  (JHe  is 
earnestly  regarding  letter.)  It  gives  us  an  advantage, 
and  if  he  knew 

ANGIE.  Well,  I  must  go  ;  Helen  is  waiting  for  me.  Dear 
me,  between  you  and  Helen,  and  me  and — and 
politics 

(Shakes  her  head  perplexedly  and  exits  R.  SETH  sits  by 
desk,  looking  at  letters.  After  slight  pause  enter 
ISABEL,  R.  He  does  not  at  first  notice  her.  She  stands 
a  moment  regarding  him  with  interest  and  some 
curiosity.  Her  manner  is  jaunty,  self-possessed,  at 
times  almost  impudent,  though  she  starts  this  scene 
with  an  assumed  air  of  meekness  and  innocence,  a  pose 
which  she  soon  drops) 

ISABEL.     I  beg  pardon.     This  is  Mr.  Barrett,  is  it  not? 

(SETH    turns,    surprised,  for  a  moment  not  recognizing 
ISABEL.     She  regards  him  smilingly.) 

SETH.     Yes.     I  am  Mr.  Barrett. 

ISABEL.     Can  it  be  you  don't  remember  me?     (Pretends 

disappointment)     You  don't ! 
SETH  (looking  at  her  closely,  with  a  puzzled  expression). 

Why — I — (pause}    it   seems   to  me  I  do.      It's — it's 

Isabel  Underwood. 

40 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


(Enter  DAN,  L.,  unnoticed.) 

ISABEL.  Ah,  I  am  so  relieved.  You  do  remember.  It 
would  have  been  too  bad  had  you  not  recognized  so  old 
a  friend.  Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me  ? 

(Holds  out  her  hand,  which  he  pretends  not  to  see.) 

SETH.  How  do  you  happen  to  be  here  ?  Why  have  you 
come  ? 

ISABEL.  How  unkind, — to  ask  questions,  instead  of  saying 
you  are  delighted  to  see  me.  But  1  will  answer  them. 
It's  all  by  a  lucky  chance.  You  see,  I  am  having  a 
little  vacation — thought  I  should  like  to  go  to  some 
quiet  place,  where  I  could  rest,  and,  as  luck  would 
have  it,  turned  up  here  last  night,  and — almost  the  first 
name  I  heard  mentioned,  much  to  my  surprise,  was  that 
of  Seth  Barrett.  It  seems  you  are  getting  to  be  quite  a 
public  man — a  person  of  some  importance. 

SETH.     Won't  you  be  seated  ? 

ISABEL.     Thanks.     (Sits  R.  c.) 

(DAN  has  been  up  L.  c.,  looking  on  and  listening  with  much 
interest.) 

SETH.  You  may  go,  Dan.  I  won't  need  you  any  more  to 
day. 

DAN.     All  right.     (Gets  hat,  exits  R.) 

SETH  (standing  c.).  It  does  seem  to  be  a  peculiar  coinci 
dence,  Miss  Underwood 

ISABEL.     Ah, — call  me  "  Isabel "  ! 

SETH.  Your  turning  up  here  this  way — Miss  Underwood  ! 
— not  knowing,  as  you  say,  that  this  is  where  you 
would  find  me.  But,  seeing  you  are  here,  you  might 
as  well  tell  me  at  once,  without  any  more  useless 
preliminaries,  just  what  it  is  you  want.  (She  makes  a 
gesture  of  remonstrance.)  Oh,  I  know  there  is  some 
thing.  This  is  not  the  first  time,  remember. 

ISABEL.  You  do  me  an  injustice.  How  can  you  wrong 
me  so,  such  old  friends  as  we  are  ? 

SETH.  Yes,  perhaps  we  were  friends,  once,  if  you  want  to 
call  such  an  acquaintance  as  ours  by  that  sacred  name. 
I  shouldn't.  But,  at  any  rate,  we  were  pretty  well 
acquainted.  I  was  a  green  country  boy,  in  college, 
having  my  first  glimpse  of  the  world — "real  life,"  as 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


they  call  it — and,  naturally  enough,  I  suppose,  easily 
became  infatuated  with  the  handsome  actress — or 
"showgirl,"  rather — who  lost  no  time  in  taking  ad 
vantage  of  my  infatuation,  getting  all  she  could  out  of 
me,  and  then  throwing  me  over. 

ISABEL  (rising).  Oh,  you  poor,  innocent  boy  !  Too  bad, 
wasn't  it?  Nobody  to  protect  you  from  the  wiles  of 
the  woman  to  whom  you  made  violent  love,  and  who 
looked  upon  you  as  the  silly  little  country  gawk  you 
were.  Well,  you  got  off  mighty  easy.  She  might  have 
collected  big  damages  for  breach  of  promise,  but  she 
didn't. 

(DAN  has  appeared  in  window,  looking  in  and  listening ; 
dodges  back  when  there  is  danger  of  being  detected  ; 
seems  to  be  "  catching  on."} 

SETH.  I  was  very  foolish,  I  admit,  but  I  never  did  any 
thing  wrong — you  know  that.  You  made  enough  out 
of  my  little  indiscretion,  and  I  thought  it  was  all  in 
the  past,  but — ah,  I  see  !  My  "  past  " — a  rich  morsel 
for  my  political  opponents.  Ah,  ha  !  So !  I  might 
have  known. 

ISABEL.     What  are  you  driving  at  ?     What  do  you  mean  ? 

SETH.  M'm — surely,  you  don't  expect  I  am  able  to  pay 
you  half  as  much  as  they — he ;  however,  if  the  letters 
are  for  sale,  how  much  do  you  want  for  them? 

ISABEL.     What  letters  ? 

SETH.  Why,  those  you  have  in  your  bag  there,  to  be 
sure.  You  didn't  come  without  your  ammunition,  and 
of  course  th'ose  foolish,  calf-love  letters  I  wrote  you  so 
long  ago  are  what  you  depend  upon  to  blow  me  up 
with — if  I  don't  come  to  time.  What's  your  price  ? 

ISABEL.  Sir,  how  dare  you  insult  me  ?  Do  you  mean  to 
insinuate  ? 

SETH.  Not  at  all.  It's  not  necessary.  I  come  right  out 
flat  and  say — you  have  those  letters,  you  want  to  sell 
them,  and  I  ask,  "  How  much  ?  " 

ISABEL.  Well,  you're  pretty  cute.  But  I  might  have 
known — you're  a  lawyer  now.  My,  but  you've 
changed  since  I  knew  you  before.  Well,  then,  I  have 
the  letters,  and  I  don't  mind  saying  they're  for  sale. 
I'm  hard  up.  I've  had  a  bad  season — have  been  los 
ing  my  hold  for  some  time — and  now  I've  got  to  get 
42 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


what  I  can  out  of  life.  I'm  not  owning  that  I  have 
entered  into  any  scheme,  as  you  seem  to  infer,  but  I 
am  saying  that  by  handing  these  letters  over  to  certain 
persons,  who  will  see  that  the  newspapers  get  them, 
your  opponents  can  work  up  a  scandal  that  will  knock 
your  chances  of  being  elected  as — whatever  it  is  you're 
running  for — sky-high,  and  also  put  an  end  for  good 
and  all  to  the  love  affair  between  you  and  that  little 
country  girl  I  seem  to  have  heard  something  about. 
You  might  as  well  know  the  truth,  and  there  it  is. 

SETH.  Not  quite  all  of  it,  though.  Mr.  David  Conant  is 
the  other  bidder,  and  he  is  bound  to  bid  higher  than  I. 
Very  foolish  of  you,  my  dear  Miss  Underwood,  to  give 
him  away  and  yourself  too.  I  don't  think  he  will 
thank  you.  You  have  robbed  him  of  his  thunder. 

ISABEL.  So  !  that's  how  much  you  appreciate  my  coming 
to  you,  for  old  time's  sake,  and  offering  to  help  you. 

SETH.     Yes,  that's  just  how  much 

ISABEL.     And  you  won't  buy  the  letters? 

SETH.  No  !  I  don't  want  the  letters — and  what's  mor$ 
you  have  my  permission  to  do  as  you  please  with  them 
— to  get  all  you  can  out  of  Mr.  Conant — and  I  wish 
you  success. 

(He  seems  as  if  about  to  dismiss  the  subject,  indicating  that 
he  wishes  her  to  go ;  but  she  pretends  not  to  under 
stand.  DAN  keeps  looking  in  window  and  dodging 
back,  taking  it  all  in,  unnoticed.) 

ISABEL.  Oh,  come  now,  you  can't  bluff  me  that  way.  It's 
all  put  on,  and  you  know  well  enough  you  would  do 
anything  in  the  world  to  prevent  these  letters  getting  in 
the  hands  of  the  other  side.  Why,  innocent  as  they  may 
be,  your  opponents  could  make  capital  of  them  and  ruin 
your  chances.  (Takes  small  package  of  letters  from 
hand-bag,  shows  them  to  him,  tantalizingfy.)  Look — 
here  they  are — six  little  letters,  which  I  have  half  a 
mind  to  give  to  you  anyway,  you're  such  a  good  sport, 
and  let  the  others  go  hang.  (Holds  them  out,  then 
takes  them  back,  thoiigh  he  makes  no  move  to  take 
them.)  But  no,  I'm  too  hard  up.  Got  to  have  money. 
Much  as  I'd  like  to  give  them  to  you  for  nothing,  I 
can't  afford  it.  Look  at  them.  Don't  they  look  like 
innocent  little  things  ? 

43 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


SETH.  And  so  they  are.  I  don't  deny  that  such  men  as — 
as  you  are  dealing  with — could  make  capital  out  of 
them,  but  only  by  lying  and  exaggerations.  They  can 
do  as  much  without  the  letters,  1  dare  say,  with  your 
help,  so  what's  the  use?  I  don't  think  there's  any  use 
discussing  the  matter  further,  Miss  Underwood. 

ISABEL.  Oh,  there  isn't?  Very  well.  But  I  can  tell  you 
now,  Mr.  Seth  Barrett,  when  it's  too  late  you  will  wish 
you  had  discussed  it  further. 

(She  is  well  up  stage,  near  desk,  in  her  excitement  ap 
parently  somewhat  losing  her  self-possession  ;  nervously 
starts  to  pull  on  glove,  or  arrange  hat  or  dress,  and 
absent-mindedly  lays  the  packet  of  letters  on  desk,  near 
those  SETH  previously  had  gathered  up  and  left  there. 
DAN  is  looking  in  window,  watching  her  every  move 
ment.  As  ISABEL  again  goes  a  few  steps  down  c. ,  SETH 
being  farther  down  L.  c. ,  where  she  keeps  her  eye  on 
him,  DAN  reaches  in  and,  watching  closely,  quickly 
seizes  her  letters.  They  are  tied  with  a  broad  rubber 
band.  DAN  expeditious ly  loosens  band,  takes  the  other 
letters — as  left  by  SETH — puts  rubber  band  around 
them  and  leaves  that  packet  instead  of  the  other,  which 
he  keeps,  and  then  disappears  from  sight,  after  a  mis 
chievous  glance  and  triumphant  shake  of  his  head  at 
ISABEL.) 

SETH.  I  think  not.  (Looks  off  R.)  You  will  find  Mr. 
Conant's  office  down  the  street  there — see,  on  that  side 
(pointing),  three  doors  beyond  the  post-office.  No 
doubt  he  is  waiting  for  you  anxiously.  More  anxious 
to  see  you  than  I  am  to  detain  you,  I  dare  say. 

ISABEL.  How  un  gall  ant !  You  never  used  to  treat  me  in 
this  way.  But  that  was  long  ago,  and — very  well.  So 
be  it.  I'm  sorry — really  I  am — but  if  it  is  to  be  war 
between  us,  why — it's  your  own  fault. 

(Goes  up,  as  if  about  to  exit.) 

SETH  (pointing  to  desk).     The  letters!     Don't  forget  the 

precious  letters.     (Very  coolly.} 
ISABEL  (starting,  turning  to  desk,  seizing  letters').     Oh  ! 

I   declare — how  careless  of  me !     I — I    quite   forgot. 

Thank  you.     (She  looks  at  him  curiously,  as  if  unable 

44 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


to  understand  such  treatment.}  Why  did  you  do 
that? 

SETH.     Do  what  ? 

ISABEL  (lingering;  back  to  c.).  Tell  me  about  those 
letters  ? 

SETH  (R.  c.).     They  are  yours — not  mine. 

ISABEL.  But  you  might  have — (holding  tep  tetters)  and  in 
stead Well,  it's  beyond  me.  (Opens  hand- bag 

and  slips  letters  into  it.}  Really,  you're  the  kind  of 
fellow  that  deserves  to  win,  but — (R.)  you've  had  your 
choice,  and  now 

(Smiles  patronizingly,  shakes  head,  as  if  thinking,  "  2  give 
it  up  /"  and  exits  R.  SETH  stands  a  moment  looking 
after  her,  with  an  expression  that  shows  his  disgust, 
also  his  determination,  then,  with  a  toss  of  his  head, 
indicating  that  he  is  prepared  to  fight,  turns  to  desk, 
as  if  to  take  up  the  letters  he  had  left  there.  .  Not  see 
ing  them,  he  looks  about,  puzzled ;  is  busily,  and  with 
increasing  excitement,  searching,  on  desk,  under  paper ns9 
in  drawer st  etc.,  as  curtain  falls.) 


CURTAIN 


45 


ACT  III 

SCENE. — Nicely  furnished  dining-room  and  living-room 
combined,  in  home  of  SETH  ;  chairs,  pictures,  curtains, 
etc.,  as  seen  in  unpretentious  but  comfortable  and 
attractive  country  house.  Entrances  R.  and  L.  Dis 
cover  SETH,  who  has  just  risen  from  supper  table, 
abotit  to  put  on  hat  and  go  out ;  ANGIE  seated  R.,  with 
fancy  work ;  LOBELIA  clearing  last  of  supper  things 
from  table,  L.  c.,  removi?ig  white  cloth,  putting  on  dark 
spread,  etc. 

LOBELIA.  Miss  Angie,  he  didn'  eat  hahdly  nuffin  dis  time, 
eithuh.  Seems  lak  yo'  am1  got  no  ap'tite  't  all,  lately, 
Mass'  Seff.  Yo's  gvvine  be  sick,  yo'  don'  look  out. 

SETH.  Don't  you  worry,  Lobelia;  I'm  all  right.  It's  just 
this  little  excitement  over  the  election,  and  so  on.  I'm 
not  sick. 

LOBELIA.     Wai,  Ah  d'  know 

ANGIE.  I  think  Lobelia's  right,  Seth.  You're  all  worked 
up,  and  election  isn't  for  some  time  yet.  I  just  don't 
think  it's  worth  it — and  Helen  and  all. 

(Exit  LOBELIA,  L.,  with  things.') 

SETH.  Now,  don't  you  begin  too,  little  woman.  I'm  in 
for  it,  and  I've  got  to  see  it  through.  You  wouldn't 
want  your  big  brother  to  show  the  white  feather  and 
back  out  now,  would  you  ? 

ANGIE.  N-no,  of  course  I  wouldn't ;  but  a  man  like  that 

old  Dave  Con  ant {Rises ;  SETH  looks  at  her 

reprovingly.'}  Well,  I  don't  care — I  just  despise  him. 
Look  at  the  way  he's  treating  Helen.  Why,  as  if  she 
were  a  baby,  or — or  he  Bluebeard  and  she  one  of  his 
wives 

(Enter  LOBELIA,  L.,  working  about.) 

SETH.  I  guess  it  isn't  so  bad  as  all  that.  Have  you  seen 
her  lately  ? 

46 


TEE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


ANGIE  (going  to  sofa  down  R.).  Of  course  not.  How 
could  I,  when  he  keeps  her  shut  up  ?  I  think  it's  your 
duty  to  go  and  rescue  her.  If  I  were  in  her  place,  I'd 
get  out  somehow  and  run  away. 

SETH.  And  make  matters  all  the  worse.  No,  she  is  doing 
the  very  best  thing.  It  will  all  come  right  in  time. 
After  election — however  it  may  go — will  be  time  to  do 
something.  In  the  meantime 

ANGIE.  Yes,  and  in  the  meantime,  for  weeks  maybe,  she's 
got  to  stay  shut  up  like — like  the  princess  in  the  tower, 
and  mope  and  mope.  Ugh, — such  a  father  ! 

LOBELIA.     Ah'd  lak  t'  skin  'urn  alibe,  de  ole  rapscallion  ! 

SETH.  Ha  !  I  guess  his  skin's  too  tough  for  that,  Lobelia. 
(Goes  R.,  with  hat.)  I'm  going  down  street  a  while, 
Angie — to  the  office.  I  have  lost  an  important  letter, 
and  must  see  if  I  can't  find  it. 

ANGIE.     A  letter  ?     What  was  it  ? 

SETH.  Oh,  you  wouldn  t  understand.  From  a  politician 
— something  about  Conant  that  we  don't  want  him  to 
know  we  know.  It'll  turn  up,  I  guess.  Don't  you 
bother.  (About  to  %o.)  Just  you  see  that  you  control 
that  little  tongue  of  yours,  and  not  get  too  excited. 
You  too,  Lobelia. 

(Exit,  R.) 

LOBELIA.  Ah  reck'n  mah  li'll  tongue's  gwine  say  few  t' ings 
— see  'f  it  don'. 

(  Takes  broom  and  begins  brushing  up. ) 

ANGIE.  And  mine,  too.  I'd — bust ! — if  I  didn't  talk.  I 
fairly  boil  when  I  think  of  Dave  Conant.  I  suppose 
it's  wicked,  but  I  just  hate  that  man. 

LOBELIA.  Den  Ah's  jest's  wicked  's  yo'  is,  honey,  ca'se  Ah 
'clar  t'  goodness  Ah  hates  'iin  too.  Wha's  he  wan' 
treat  Mass'  Seffso,  fo'  ?  Why  don*  he  gwan  'long  'bout 
his  bus'ness  'n'  let  Mass*  SefT  win  ? 

ANGIE.  Why,  because,  Lobelia,  that  wouldn't  be  politics. 
There  alwa.ys  has  to  be  two  sides,  and  of  course  Seth 
expects  to  have  somebody  run  against  him — but  it's 
having  a  man  like  Mr.  Conant  to  run  against.  Of 
course,  it  would  be  all  the  more  satisfaction  to  beat 
him,  but — I'm  so  afraid  he  can't. 

47 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


LOBELIA.  Is  yo',  honey?  Lan',  Ah  could  beat  him,  yo' 
jes'  bet,  'f  Ah  got  aftah  'im  once.  Hit  him  ovah  de 
haid  s'  hahd  he'd  jes'  beg  fo'  mussy. 

ANGIE  (laughing).  But  that  isn't  the  way,  Lobelia.  You 
have  to  do  it  with  the  ballot. 

LOBELIA.  Laws  a  mussy,  Ah  ain*  got  no  ball't,  but  Ah  got 
a  raight  strong  arm  yuh,  an'  a  mahty  good  broom 
stick. 

ANGIE.  Ha  !  ha  !  I  guess  the  men  wouldn't  stand  much 
chance  if  the  women  could  use  broomsticks  instead  of 
bal  lots.  (  Throws  head  back,  laughing  merrily. )  Oh — 
oh — Lobelia ! 

LOBELIA.     Ah  jes'  bet  Ah'd  beat  'um. 

(Knocking  heard  off  L.) 

ANGIE.  I  wonder  who  that  can  be,  the  back  way.  Go  and 
see,  Lobelia. 

{Exit  LOBELIA,  L.  ;  ANGIE  is  seated,  with  fancy  work,  not 
looking  up.     LOBELIA  soon  returns,  L.) 

LOBELIA.     'T's  Miss  Helyun. 

ANGIE  (springing  up).  What  !  Helen  Conant — here  ? 
{Enter  HELEN,  L.  She  is  pale  and  appears  nervous 
and  frightened,  but  has  an  air  of  determination. 
ANGIE,  c. ;  HELEN,  L.  c. ;  LOBELIA  up  L.  ANGIE  greets 
her  affectionately.)  Why,  Helen  dear,  what's  the 
matter  ?  What  has  happened  ? 

HELEN.     I — have — run  away. 

{Exit  LOBELIA,  L.) 

ANGIE.     I  don't   understand.     You   mean   you  have  left 

home? 
HELEN.     Yes,  and  I  am  never  going  back.     I'm  not  going 

to  submit  to  such  tyranny,  even  from  my  own  father. 

He  has  no  right  to  treat  me  so  and  make  me  a  prisoner 

— I,  a  girl  almost  twenty.     It's  outrageous,  and  I  won't 

stand  it — I  won't ! 

ANGIE.     I  know,  dear,  but  Seth  says  it  is  for  the  best. 
HELEN.     Oh,  it's  easy  enough  for  him  to  talk,  but  if — if 

he  really  loved  me 

(She  is  seated  on  sofa  down  R.  ;  ANGIE  standing  by  her.) 

48 


THE  VILLAGE  LA  WYER 


ANGIE.  Oh,  Helen,  he  does  !  It's  because  he  does,  and 
because  he  wants  to  protect  you  and  not  do  anything 
that  you  and  he  will  be  sorry  tor, — and  the  election, 
you  know 

HELEN.  Oh,  yes,  I  know ;  he  thinks  more  of  that  office 
he's  running  for  than  he  does  of  me 

ANGIE.  Why,  Helen  Conant,  how  can  you  say  such  a 
thing  ?  You  know  Seth  isn't  that  kind  of  man,  and  I 
guess  if  that's  the  opinion  you  have  of  him — well 

HELEN.  It  isn't,  Angie,  you  know  it  isn't.  I  believe  in 
Seth,  and  I  want  to  do  what's  right,  but  I'm  so — so 
miserable,  and — and  it's  so  terrible  to  stay  shut  up  in 
the  house,  that  I  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer.  Why, 
I'm  actually  afraid  of  father — he  is  so  severe,  so  cruel, 
there  is  no  saying  what  he  might  do.  He  would  send 
me  away,  where  I  could  never  see  Seth  again,  and — 
that  would  kill  me.  (She  has  risen.}  No,  I'm  not  a 
child  to  be  treated  like  this — nor  a  slave,  to  be  driven — 
and  I  won't  submit  to  it,  I  don't  care  what  happens  ! 

{Enter  LOBELIA,  L.) 

LOBELIA.  Wha's  de  mattah?  Why,  Miss  Helyun,  wha* 
ails  yo'  ?  Yo'  sick  ? 

ANGIE.  She's  just  excited,  that's  all,  and  all  upset.  She'll 
get  over  it  in  a  few  minutes.  Come,  Helen,  we'll  go 
up  to  my  room;  you  can  lie  down  and  rest  a  little 
while,  and  then  we'll  talk  it  over  and  see  what  can  be 
done. 

HELEN.     But  I'm  not  going  back  home — I'm  not 

ANGIE.  Well,  you  needn't,  then.  Just  come  now  and  get 
quieted  down. 

HELEN  (as  she  submits,  going  L.  with  ANGIE).  Where's 
Seth? 

ANGIE.  He  went  down  street  for  a  little  while.  Come, 
dear.  {To  LOBELIA,  as  they  go  out.}  Lobelia,  don't 
tell  any  one  she  is  here.  If  anybody  comes  enquiring 
for  her,  don't  let  them  know. 

LOBELIA.  All  raight,  missy,  Ah  won't.  Dey  conldn'  git 
it  out  o'  me  wid  a  dozen  wil'  hosses.  No,  sah. 
{Exeunt  ANGIE  and  HELEN,  L.  Door-bell  rings.  LO 
BELIA  goes  R.)  Lan'  o'  mussy,  wondah  who  dat  is. 

{Exit  R.  ;  admits  DAVID,  who  blusters  in,  in  a  great  ragtt 
LOBELIA  following.') 

49 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


DAVID.  Where's  my  daughter?  Don't  say  she  isn't  here; 
I  know  she  is. 

LOBELIA.  Den  Ah  guess  dey  am'  no  use  sayin'  nuffin,  'f 
yo'-all  's  so  suah.  Reckon  yo's  mistaken,  dough. 

DAVID.  No,  I'm  not  mistaken,  either.  She's  here,  and  I 
know  she  is,  and  the  sooner  you  tell  her  to  come  out 
and  show  herself,  the  better. 

LOBELIA.  Lan'  sakes,  wha*  yo'  talkin'  'bout,  Mass'  Co- 
nant  ?  Who  yo1  look'n*  fo' — Miss  Helyun  ?  Ah  reckon 
she's  home. 

DAVID.  I  reckon  she  isn't,  so  you  needn't  lie  to  me.  She's 
here,  that's  where  she  is,  and  I'll  make  it  hot  for  Seth 
Barrett,  encouraging  her  to  go  against  her  father. 
He'll  pay  for  it,  and  so  shall  she.  It's  the  last  time 
she'll  get  a  chance  to  defy  me  like  this.  Well,  why 
don't  you  go  and  tell  her  I'm  here,  instead  of  standing 
there  like  a  bump-on-a-log  ? 

LOBELIA.  Who  yo'  reckon  yo's  talkin'  to, — me?  Well,  if 
yo'  is,  yo'  ma'h't  as  well  hush  up  yo'  noise,  'case  yo' 
cayn't  scan  me  nohow.  (He  starts  togoi,.,  but  she 
bars  his  way.)  Whar  yo'  gwine  ?  Gwan  'way  from 
yuh,  yo'  fool  man !  1'se  gwine  lose  mah  tempah  'n  a 
minute. 

DAVID.     My  daughter's  in  there.     Stand  aside. 

LOBELIA.  Stan'  'side  yo'se'f.  Whoevah  heerd  sech  fool 
ishness?  Whose  house  yo'-all  t'ink  dis  is — -yo's? 

DAVID  (desisting,  but  still  determined;  sitting  c.,  reso 
lutely}.  Well,  I'll  wait  right  here,  then,  till  I  find  out. 
We'll  see  whether  she's  going  to  obey  me  or  not. 

(Door -bell  rings.) 

LOBELIA.    My  lan's  o'  lub,  dar's  dat  ar  bell  agin.    (Starts  R.) 
DAVID  (springing  up).     Oh,  so  it  rang  before,  did  it? — 

when  m^  daughter  came  ?     I  thought  so. 
LOBELIA.     G'  'long  !     Wha's  do' -bells  fo',  'f  'tain't  t'  ring  ? 

(Goes  and  admits  MRS.  D.,  R.,  followed  by  SAM.) 

MRS.  D.  (seeing  DAVID).  For  the  land's  sake,  you  here, 
Dave  Conant  ?  I  guess  they  must  be  five  or  six  of  y', 
the  way  you  keep  yourself  distributed.  'S  if  one  wa'n't 
enough!  (To  LOBELIA.)  Seth  t'  home? 

LOBELIA.     No,  he  ain'  t'  home.     Up  street. 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


MRS.  D.     Oh,  he  is  ?     Wai,  I  want  t'  see  him.     When'll 

he  be  back?     (Sits  on  sofa,  R.) 
LOBELIA.     D'knovv.     Purt  soon,  mebbe. 
MRS.  D.     I'll  wait.     Went  to  his  office  this  afternoon,  V 

he  wa'n't  there.     (Sits  R.  c.)     I've  got  all  night. 

(She  disdains  SAM,  who  tries  to  make  up  to  her,  with  an  air 
of  pitiful  pleading.  He  brings  chair  from  up  R.  and 
sits  close  to  her  ;  she  hitches  away,  giving  him  a 
withering  look.) 

DAVID  (L.).  What's  the  matter,  Mrs.  Dill?  You  and  Sam 
had  another  spat  ? 

MRS.  D.     Whose  business  is  it,  if  we  have  ? 

SAM.     Now,  Jane  !     Jane — speak  to  me,  won't  y'  ? 

MRS.  D.  (giving  him  another  contemptuous  look,  then  turn 
ing  her  back  on  him}.  I  guess  I  ain't  goin'  t'  stand 
everything.  'T's  gone  about  fur  enough. 

LOBELIA.     Laws  o'  mussy,  Mis'  Dill,  yo'  in  anothah  pickle? 

DAVID.     A  dill  pickle  !     That's  good.     (Laughs.} 

MRS.  D.  Smart,  ain't  y' ?  I  guess  it's  worse  'n  a  dill 
pickle  you're  comin'  to,  Dave  Conant — 'lection.  Say, 
what's  this  I  hear  about  that  woman  from  New  York, 
tryin'  t'  hatch  up  somethin'  t'  hurt  Seth  Barrett?  Youi 
doin's,  I'll  bet  a  cookie.  Jest  like  your  way  o'  doin* 
things.  Must  be  you're  pretty  well  scart  'n'  afraid  o' 
gitt'n'  beat,  t'  resort  t'  such  methods.  Pretty  small,  I 
call  it.  But,  then,  I  ain't  s'prised. 

DAVID.     Where'd  you  hear  that  yarn  ? 

MRS.  D.  Yarn,  is  it  ?  Well,  I  heard  it  all  right.  It  comes 
straight  enough.  I  knew  the  minute  I  laid  eyes  on  her, 
the  other  day,  't  she  wa'n't  here  for  no  good  purpose. 
Tryin'  t'  get  up  some  story  t'  go  ag'inst  Seth  Barrett, 
jes*  so  he  won't  get  'lected.  Bet  you're  at  the  bottom 
of  it.  A  man  that'll  lock  his  own  daughter  up,  's  if  she 
was  some  criminal,  jest  b'cause 

DAVID.  Say,  let  up,  will  you  ?  Your  tongue  runs  like  a 
threshing  machine.  Is  there  ever  anything  you  don't 
find  out?  I  don't  wonder  your  husband  can't  live  with 
you 

SAM  (firing  up,  indignantly  to  DAVID).  See  here,  Dave 
Conant,  don't  you  talk  that  way  t'  my  wife  !  I  won't 
stand  for  it,  so  y'd  better  shut  up.  She's  worth  a  dozen 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


like  you,  any  day,  V  when  you  'nsult  her  you  'nsult 
me.     Understand  ? 

(MRS.  D.  looks  at  him  in  surprise,  her  anger  beginning  to 
change  to  admiration.} 

DAVID.  Ho  !  you're  a  pretty  one  to  talk, — a  man  that's 
henpecked  as  you  are.  Why,  you  don't  dare  say  your 
soul's  your  own 

MRS.  D.  (faring  up  to  him}.  Oh,  he  don't,  eh?  I'd 
have  you  know  he's  my  husband,  Dave  Conant,  and  more 
of  a  man  than  you  ever  was  'r  ever  will  be.  I'd  ruther 
he'd  be  poor  as  a  church  mouse  th'n  t'  be  as  rich  as  a 
dozen  millionaires  'n'  git  the  money  the  way  you  git 
yours. 

LOBELIA.  Laws  o'  mussy,  Mis'  Dill,  don'  yo'  git  so  'xcited. 
Fust  y'  know  he'll  have  yo'  put  'n  de  lock-up. 

MRS.  D.  Let  him  try  it.  Not  while  I've  got  my  husband 
here  t*  pertect  me.  Will  he,  Sam  ? 

SAM  (delighted,  standing  up  by  her).  No,  Jane  dear,  you 
can  bet  he  won't.  (Glares  at  DAVID.) 

DAVID  (laughing  sarcastically).  You're  a  fine  lot,  you 
are.  I  can't  waste  any  more  time  over  you.  (To 
LOBELIA.)  I'm  going,  but  I'll  be  back ;  and  I'll  find 
my  daughter,  if  I  have  to  get  out  a  search  warrant  to 
do  it.  You  needn't  think  you  can  fool  me.  She's 
here,  and  I  know  it,  for  she  was  seen  coming  in  this 
direction,  not  ten  minutes  before  I  got  here.  I'll  have 
the  law  on  you,  that's  what  I'll  do,  and  your  precious 
master,  too. 

LOBELIA.  Laws  o'  mussy  !  Mass'  Conant,  he  don'  know 
nuffin  'bout  it,  'deed  he  don't.  He  wa'n't  yuh, 
nohow 

DAVID.     Ha  !     Wasn't  here — when  ? 

LOBELIA  (confused,  seeing  her  mistake).  Why — when  yo' 
come,  Mass'  Conant.  Dat's  all  Ah  means,  deedy  dat's 
all. 

DAVID.  All  right.  We'll  let  it  go  at  that — for  the  present 
— but  you'll  find  this  isn't  the  last  of  it.  Seth  Barrett 
will  hear  from  me  about  this. 

(Exit,  R.) 

MRS.  D.  For  the  land's  sake,  has  Helen  Conant  run  away 
from  home  ?  Is  she  here  ? 

52 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


LOBELIA.  Dat's  what  he  t'inks,  the  crazy  jigger.  Ain*  got 
no  sense,  nohow.  Nevah  did  see  sich  go'n's  on. 
(Goes  L.)  Ah's  gwine  up  'n'  tell  Miss  Angie  yo's 
yuh. 

(Exit,  L.) 

(MRS.    D.   sits,  not  noticing  SAM,   who  makes  up  to  her, 
imploringly.) 

SAM.  Jane!  Jane,  you  goin'  t'  make  up  agin?  (Pause.) 
Be  y',  Jane?  Don't  y'  know  I  love y',  Jane, — don't  y' 
know  I  do?  Come  on,  Jane,  will  y',  'n'  make  it  up? 

MRS.  D.  I  d'  know  whether  I  will  'r  not.  What  good  does  it 
do  ?  You  go  'n'  git  me  all  pervoked  agin,  so  't  I  jest 
git  desperate.  I  guess  a  divorce  is  the  best  thing. 

SAM.     Oh,— J- Jane  !     (Almost  in  tears) 

MRS.  D.     Yes,  I  guess  it  is 

SAM.  Oh,  Jane,  you  don't  mean  it  !  Didn't  I  stick  up  for 
y'  ?  I'd  fight  for  y',  Jane,— I'd  die  for  y'  ! 

MRS.  D.  Land,  what  'd  be  the  use  ?  You  ain't  got  no  life 
insurance. 

SAM.     But  I'll  git  it  insured. 

MRS.  D.  'N'  then  die  for  me  ?  I  guess  you  might  better 
live  for  me — 'n'  prove  y'  mean  it  by  havin'  some  gump 
tion  'n'  not  bein'  so  shif'less. 

SAM.  I  will,  Jane, — I  will.  I'll  wipe  the  dishes,  'n'  sweep, 
'n'  chop  wood,  'n' 

MRS.  D.  (softening).  M'm — w-well,  then,  I — I  guess  I'll 
forgive  y'  once  more — jest  this  once 

(He,  delighted,  is  about  to  kiss  her,  when  LOBELIA,  enters  L.) 

LOBELIA.     Laws  o'  mussy,  what  yo'-all  do'n*  ?     Ah  clar  t' 

goodness,   fight' n'   one  minute  'n'   honey-sweet'n'  de 

nex'. 
MRS.  D.     Wai,  I  guess  a  man's  got  a  right  t'  kiss  his  own 

wife,  'f  he  wants  t'. 
SAM.     'N'  I  guess  he  wants  t',  too,  when  he's  got  the  kind 

o'  wife  I  have. 

(Smiles  sentimentally  at  MRS.  D.     She  looks  at  him  with 
tenderness. ) 

(Enter  ANGIE,  L.) 

ANGIE.  Good-evening.  Excuse  me  for  not  coming  down 
before,  but  I  didn't  know  you  were  here. 

53 


THE  VILLAGE  LA  WYER 


MRS.  D.  Oh,  that's  all  right.  We  ain't  be'n  lonesome. 
How's  Helen  Conant? 

ANGIE.  Why,  she — she  was  pretty  well,  the  last  time  I  saw 
her. 

MRS.  D.  Oh,  she  was?  Glad  t'  hear  it.  I  ain't  askin' 
when  that  was.  'Tain't  none  of  my  business,  I  s'pose. 
I  don't  blame  her  if  she  has  left,  'n'  never  goes  back — 
with  Dave  Conant  for  a  father.  (ANGIE  looks  dis 
mayed.)  Oh,  you  needn't  be  scart.  lain'tgoin'  t'  tell 
all  I  knows,  'n'  neither's  Sam,  so  don't  you  let  that 
worry  y'.  (Goes  R.)  Come  on,  Sam,  I  guess  we'll  be 
goin'.  (To  LOBELIA.)  You  can  tell  Seth  I  was  here, 
if  y'  want  t',  but  that  what  I  come  t'  see  him  about 
can  wait.  Come  on,  Sam. 

(Exit,  R.     SAM  follows,  pauses   at  door,    looking  back, 
grinning.) 

SAM.  Guess  I  know  how  t'  git  around  her,  don't  I?  See 
how  easy  I  done  it  ? 

( Exit,  R  . ,  chuckling. ) 
LOBELIA.     Laws  o'  mussy,  dey  takes  de  cake  ! 

(She  and  ANGIE  both  laugh.) 
{Enter  MRS.  D.,  R.,  hurriedly.) 

MRS.  D.     That  woman's  out  here, — comin'  in. 
ANGIE.     Who, — what  woman? 

M  RS.  D.     That  actress  woman — the  one  from  New  York 

ANGIE.     Here?     What  does  she  want? 

LOBELIA.     Ain'  gwine  let  'er  in.     Don'  wan'  no  sech  trash 

comin'  ytih.     (Goes  R.) 
ANGIE.     No,  no;  I  can't  see  her.     Tell  her 

(Enter  ISABEL,  R.  MRS.  D.  looks  at  her  critically  ;  ANGIE 
with  surprise;  LOBELIA  defiantly,  as  if  inclined  to  put 
her  out.) 

ISABEL.  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me  for  entering  so  uncere 
moniously.  I  was  about  to  ring,  when  this  lady  (indi 
cating  MRS.  D.)  opened  the  door  and  saved  me  the 
necessity  of  troubling  you.  May  I  enquire  if  Mr.  Bar 
rett  is  at  home  ? 

54 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


ANGIE.  No,  he  is  not.  If — if  you  have  business  with  him, 
I  think  it  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  call  at  his  office. 

MRS.  D.  I  should  say  as  much.  Looks  kind  o'  queer,  it 
seems  to  me,  your  comin'  here  this  way.  But  I  don't 
s'pose  you  care  if  it  does  make  talk.  Mebbe  that's 
what  you're  up  to. 

ANGIE.     Mrs.  Dill ! 

(Exit  LOBELIA,  L.,  with  suspicious  glances  at  ISABEL.) 

MRS.  D.  Oh,  I  s'pose  it  ain't  none  o'  my  business,  but  ap 
pearances  speak  for  themselves.  I'll  be  goin'.  (R.,  to 
ISABEL,  as  she  goes  out.}  But  I  want  y'  to  understand 
you  couldn't  make  me  believe  anything  against  Seth 
Barrett — not  if  y'  swore  to  it  on  a  stack  of  Bibles  's — 
's  high  as  the  church  steeple. 

(Exit,  R.,  with  a  determined  air,  her  head  «/.) 

ISABEL.  Your  brother  seems  to  have  some  very  earnest 
champions,  Miss  Barrett.  I  should  judge  he  is  about 
the  must  popular  man  in  this  vicinity. 

ANGIE.  I  suppose  he  is,  but — 1  don't  see  what  good  it  does 
him.  Running  for  office  against  a  man  like  Mr.  Conant 

is  only  a  means  of  getting  into  hot  water.  That  man 

Excuse  me,  1  know  1  shouldn't  say  anything.  Did  you 
say  you  wish  to  see  my  brother — on  business? 

ISABEL.  Y-yes ;  but  that  can  wait.  Tell  me  about  this 
man — this  David  Conant — is  he  so — so  terrible? 
Hasn't  he  a  right  to  win,  if  it's  in  his  power? 

(She  has  taken  the  chair  ANGIE  has  offered  hert  and  is 
seated  R.  ;   ANGIE  stands  L.  c.) 

ANGIE.  Why,  of  course  he  has ;  but  he  ought  to  play  fair. 
He'd  resort  to  any  means.  Hasn't  he — but  I  forgot,  I 
wasn't  to  talk.  Seth  told  me  girls  have  no  right  to  talk 
politics,  and  that  1  shouldn't  express  opinions.  He 
never  says  a  word  against  Mr.  Conant  himself — he  isn't 
that  kind. 

ISABEL.     Your  brother  isn't? 

ANGIE.  Of  course  he  isn't.  He's  too  honorable.  Why,  I 
don't  believe  Seth  could  do  a  mean  or  a  dishonorable 
act.  He'd  rather  get  beaten,  ten  times  over,  than  do 
anything  underhanded  to  win.  And  just  see  what  it 
means  to  him—this  running  for  office — with  Mr.  Co- 

55 


TEE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


nant  forbidding  Helen  even  to  speak  to  him,  when  they 
were  the  same  as  engaged.  Oh,  it's  just  terrible,  and 
1 — I  wish  he'd  give  it  up.  Helen's  worth  a  hundred 
offices,  and — and  she's  just  breaking  her  heart,  too, 
and Oh,  dear  !  (Cries.) 

ISABEL.  So  Mr.  Conant's  daughter  is  your  brother's  sweet 
heart — and  her  father  forbids Ah,  1  see.  That 

complicates  matters,  doesn't  it  ?  (Rises.)  And  your 
brother  keeps  up  the  fight,  even  against  such  odds,  and 
with  so  much  at  stake — simply  because  he  thinks  it  his 
duty?  1  didn't  understand  all  that.  He  must  be 
brave,  as  \\ell  as  upright  and  honest,  as  you  say. 

ANGIE.  Brave?  I  guess  he  is.  Oh,  if  you  knew  him, 
you'd  love  him — no — I  didn't  mean  just  that !— I 
meant  you'd  see — well,  of  course  he's  my  brother, 

and Why,  Helen  !  (Enter  HELEN,  L.  ;  she  is 

very  pale  and  falters  as  she  sees  ISABEL.  ANGIE  gees 
to  her,  assisting  her  to  chair,  L.  c.  ISABEL  looks  at 
her  rather  curiously,  but  not  unkindly.)  This  is  Miss 
Conant — Helen  Conant — Miss ? 

ISABEL.  Underwood.  (To  HELEN,  with  courtesy.)  lam 
pleased  to  meet  you,  Miss  Conant.  1  believe  I  have 
met  your  father. 

HELEN  (rising  as  she  is  introduced).  Perhaps.  I — I 
think  I  have  heard  of  you 

ISABEL.     Through  him  ? 

HELEN.  My  father?  Oh,  no,  Miss  Underwood;  not 
through  him.  I — I  think  it  was  Mr.  Spencer. 

ISABEL.     Spencer?     I  don't  think 

ANGIE  (not  pleased  at  the  suggestion).  Mr.  Spencer?  Do 
you  know  Alan  Spencer,  Miss  Underwood  ?  1  didn't 
think  he  knew  any  such — any — actresses  ! 

ISABEL  (laughing,  somewhat  constrainedly).  Oh, — "ac 
tresses  "  !  1  suppose  you  think  they  are  terrible  crea 
tures.  M'm — well,  perhaps  they  are,  some  of  them. 
But  don't  you  think  it  is  possible  there  are  exceptions? 

ANGIE.  I — why,  I  suppose  there  are — of  course.  I — I 
didn't  mean  anything,  really  I  didn't.  You  see,  I 
don't  believe  we  are  quite  accountable  for  what  we  say 
or  do,  these  days — some  of  us — we  are  so  all  worked 
up,  and  everything.  At  least  I'm  not,  and  as  for 
Helen  here, — poor  girl,  I  guess  she's  been  through 
enough,  and — goodness  knows,  it  is~.'t  all  over  yet. 

56 


THE  VILLAGE  LA  WYER 


ISABEL.  I  am  sorry  if  you  are  in  distress,  Miss  Conant.  I 
— pardon  me,  but  I — is  it  because  of  your  father — and 
Mr.  Barrett  ? 

HELEN.     Y-yes.     Father  says — he  says  I  must  never 

(Pauses,  as  if  afraid  of  saying  too  much.) 

ANGIE  {going  and  standing  by  her).  Yes,  her  father  is 
angry  at  my  brother,  because  he's  running  for  the 
office  he  wants,  and  he's  mean  enough — well,  don't 
you  think  it's  mean  ? — to  try  and  separate  him  and 
Helen,  just  for  revenge.  Why,  he  even  locked  Helen 
up — made  a  prisoner  of  her — but  she  got  out  and  ran 
away  and  came  here.  If  her  father  finds  her,  I  don't 
know  what'll  happen 

ISABEL  (to  HELEN).  Why,  my  child,  you  shouldn't  have 
done  that.  You  are  only  making  matters  worse.  Don't 
you  know  it  ?  You  should  go  back  home  at  once, 
before  your  father  finds  out  you  are  here 

ANGIE.     That's  just  what  I  told  her 

HELEN  (rising — with  some  spirit).  Oh,  it's  easy  enough 
for  you  to  talk,  but  if  you  had  it  to  bear,  I  guess  you 
would  rebel,  too.  He  has  no  right  to  treat  me  so — as 
if  I  were  a  mere  child  and  had  no  right  to  choose  for 
myself.  But  I  don't  care — I  shall  not  give  Seth  up — I 
will  see  him;  and  I  won't  go  home — no,  I  won't — and 
be  treated  like  a — like  a — slave  !  I'd  rather  die  ! 

ANGIE.  Why,  Helen  dear,  you  mustn't  get  so  excited. 
You'll  be  sick. 

ISABEL  (to  ANGIE).     Will  you  let  me  speak  to  her — alone? 

ANGIE.     I 

ISABEL.  Oh,  you  may  trust  her  with  me, — even  if  I  am 
an — "  actress." 

ANGIE.     Oh, — why,  of  course (Goes  L.) 

ISABEL.     Just  for  a  moment.     You  may  come  right  back. 

ANGIE.     All  right. 

(Exit,  L.) 

ISABEL  (after  regarding  HELEN  for  a  moment,  silently,  her 
face  somewhat  softened).  So  your  father  has  separated 
you  from  your — from  the  man  you  love,  Miss  Conant — 
and  that  man  is  Seth  Barrett. 

HELEN  (surprised,  rvith  a  trace  of  indignation).  "  Seth  ?  " 
Do  you  know  him — as  well  as  that  ? 

ISABEL.     Pardon  me.     It  was  a  slip ;  because  I  hear  every- 

57 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


body  else  around  here  call  him  that,  I  suppose.  May 
I  ask — 1  suppose  it  is  an  impertinent  question,  but  I 
should^  like  to  know — if  you  are — or  were — engaged  to 
him  ? 

HELEN.  Yes.  I — had  a  ring  (holding  up  ha?id),  but — 
my  father  took  it  from  my  finger;  he  said  he  would 
give  it  back  to  Seth,  and  that — that  I  must  never  see 
or  speak  to  him  again, 

ISABEL.     And  yet  you  disobeyed  him,  and  came  here  ? 

HELEN.  Yes.  I  had  to.  I  love  Seth  too  much  to  give 
him  up — even  for  my  father,  when  he  is  so  cruel,  so 
unjust.  He  has  no  right 

ISABEL.  And  does  Seth — pardon  me,  Mr.  Barrett — encour 
age  you  in  going  against  your  father  ? 

HELEN.  Oh,  no;  he  told  me  to  obey  him,  to  wait.  He 
thinks  after  election — after 

ISABEL.  Ah,  I  see.  He  is  thinking  of  his  own  interests, 
of  the  effect  it  might  have  if  your  father  circulated  the 
report  that  he  had  stolen  his  daughter 

HELEN.  Don't  you  say  that,  if  you  mean  to  imply  that 
Seth  isn't  all  that  is  good  and  honorable.  He  wouldn't 
do  anything  wrong — he  couldn't. 

ISABEL.  But,  my  dear,  do  you  believe  that  any  man — any 
mere  man — could  be  perfect  ?  Do  you  think  there  is 
one  living — even  your  wonderful  Mr.  Seth — who  has 
no  faults,  who  never  has  done  anything  that  he  would 
prefer  the  world — or  some  one  little  woman — should 
never  know  ? 

HELEN.  I  know  Seth  Barrett  never  could  do  anything  that 
would  make  me  stop  loving  him.  I  know  that.  I 
don't  care  what  he  did — what  he  had  done — even  if  it 
was  not  just — just  right — I — I  should  still  love  him. 

ISABEL.  But — if  you  found  out  that  you  were  not  the  first 
— that  there  had  been  another  girl,  once,  to  whom  he 
made  love — who 

HELEN.  I  wouldn't  care.  I  know  he  loves  me  now,  and  I 
love  him  and  trust  him.  What  if  there  was  another 
girl,  once, — though  I  don't  believe  there  ever  was — 
why — do  you  suppose  I  should  hold  that  against  him, 
if  he  has  forgotten  her,  and  found  out  that  it's — it's 
me  he  loves,  after  all,  instead  of  her? 

ISABEL.  But  if  he  had  deceived  you — if  he  had  never  told 
you  about  her 

58 


THE  VILLAGE  LA  WYER 


HELEN.  I  wouldn't  care.  Why  should  he  ?  If  he  told 
me  he  loved  me  now,  and  1  believed  him — as  I  do  ! — 
that  would  be  enough  for  me.  Because  I  love  him, 
too — don't  you  see  ?  And  what  is  love  worth,  if — if  it 
isn't  that  kind  ? 

(She  is  very  much  in  earnest,  and  ISABEL  shows  that  she  is 
impressed  by  lier  words  and  her  attitude,  her  manner, 
which  at  first  was  somewJiat  hard  and  unsympathetic, 
beginning  to  change.  She  seems  to  admire  HELEN,  to 
sympathize  witli  her,  and  to  want  to  help  her.) 

ISABEL.     My  dear,  you're  a — a  prize  worth  having.     And 

now  1  want  you  to  come  with  me. 
HELEN.     With  you  ?     Why, — where? 
ISABEL.     Home. 
HELEN.     Your — to  your  home? 
ISABEL  (almost  sadly,  shaking  her  head).     No  ;  I  am  afraid 

1   have   no — no   place   you   would   really  call   the  one 

"  there's  no  place  like."     No,  my  dear,  to  your  home. 

Now — at  once — before  your  father  finds  out  that  you 

left  it,  that  you  have  been  here. 
HELEN.     No,  no;   I  can't  go  back. 
ISABEL.     But   you   must.     If  you  love  Seth  Barrett,  if  you 

want  to   help   him  and  do  what  is  for  his  good  and  for 

your  own  happiness,  you  must  go  home,  and  at  once. 

I  will   take   you,  and   your  father  need  not  know  that 

you  have  been  gone. 

(Enter  ANGIE,  L.) 

ANGTE.     May  I  come  in  now? 

ISABEL.  Yes.  1  have  just  been  telling  Miss  Conant,  Miss 
Barrett,  that  she  must  go  home,  at  once,  and  that  I  will 
take  her.  Don't  you  think  it  is  the  best  thing  for  her 
to  do? 

ANGIE.  Yes.  I  told  her  it  was.  Yes,  Helen  dear,  you 
must  do  it.  I  know  how  hard  it  is  for  you,  but  you 
must — for  Seth's  sake — for  your  own. 

HELEN.  Y-yes,  I — I  see.  I  suppose  I  was  wrong ;  I 
shouldn't  have  come,  and  I  will  go  back.  Even  if 
. '  father  finds  out  I  have  been  here,  I  will  beg  his  for 
giveness,  and — and  perhaps  it  will  come  out  all  right. 
I  can  wait.  Yes,  for  Seth  I  can  wait — I  will — if  it  is 
for  a  thousand  years  ! 

59 


TEE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


(She  has  brightened  up,  gained  courage,  and  smiles  hope 
fully.  ANGIE  is  by  her  side,  preparing  her  to  go* 
ISABEL  leads  the  way  toward  R.) 

ANGIE.     That's  right,  dear. 

ISABEL.  And  spoken  like  a  brave,  noble  girl.  And  I  am 
sure  you  will  never  regret  it.  Come. 

(She  goes  to  R.  with    HELEN,  ANGIE  close  to  them,  when 
ALAN  rushes  in  R.  ,  and  they  start  back  in  surprise. ) 

ANGIE.     Why — Alan  ! 

ALAN  {glancing  at  HELEN,  then  turning  to  ISABEL,  with  a 
denunciatory  manner).  Ah  ! — you  !  How  dare  you 
come  here  and  talk  to  these  innocent  girls? 

ISABEL.  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  How  dare  you  speak  to 
me  like  this  ? 

ANGIE.     Alan — why,  Alan,  do  you  know  her? 

(HELEN  sinks  into  chair  near  table  L.  c.     ALAN  is  R.  c. ; 
ISABEL  and  ANGIE,  L.) 

ALAN.  Yes,  I  know  her.  I  thought  I  recognized  her  the 
other  day,  and  now  I  know  who  she  is.  1  have  seen 
her  picture — in  a  theatrical  paper — in  tights  ! 

ISABEL  (smiling,  and  biting  her  lips,  leniently,  but  with  a 
trace  of  sarcasm}.  That  is  indeed  a  terrible  accusa 
tion,  Mr. — Spencer,  I  believe  ?  However,  it  has  noth 
ing  to  do  with  the  question,  just  now 

ALAN.  I  think  it  has,  when  I  find  you  here  talking  to  these 
two  young  ladies.  You  are  DO  fit  associate  for  them, 
and  I  shall  tell  Mr.  Barrett,  and  Miss  Conant's  father, 
that  I  have  heard  of  you,  and  that  what  I  have  heard  is 
not  to  your  credit 

ISABEL.  If  you  have  any  accusations  to  make  against  me, 
this  is  not  the  time  nor  place  to  do  it.  At  present  there 
is  something  else  to  think  about.  It  is  essential  that 
Miss  Conant  should  go  home  as  quickly  as  possible,  and 
I  have  volunteered  to  take  her  there. 

(ISABEL  is  R. ;  ALAN,  c.  ;  ANGIE  and  HELEN,  L.  c.) 

ALAN.  You  needn't  put  yourself  out.  1  think  Miss  Conant 
will  permit  me  to  act  as  her  escort. 

{Crosses,  looking  questioningly  at  HELEN.) 
60 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


HELEN  (regarding  him  somewhat  coldly  and  crossing  to 
ISABEL).  Thank  you  \  but — I — I  will  accept  Miss  Un 
derwood's  offer. 

(ALAN  looks  at  her  in  surprise,  somewhat  crestfallen.) 

ANGIE  (inclined  to  resent  the  snub  thus  given  ALAN).     Why, 

Helen,  I  should  think 

ISABEL  (with  a  glance  of  veiled  triumph  at  ALAN).     Then 

shall  we  go  at  once,  Miss  Conant  ? 
HELEN  (with  her  toward  R.).     Yes. 

(Enter  SETH,  R.  ;  he  shows  surprise  as  he  sees  ISABEL  and 
HELEN.) 

SETH.     Miss  Underwood — you  here  ?     And  Helen  ! 

HELEN  (goi?ig  to  him).  Oh,  Seth,  I  was  so  miserable,  and 
I  ran  away.  But  I  will  go  back.  I  will  obey  my  father, 
and  wait.  I  know  now  that  it  will  be  for  the  best. 

SETH.     Yes,  dear. 

(He  smiles   at  her  encouragingly,   then  looks   at  ISABEL 
questioningly.) 

ISABEL.  I  came  here  hoping  to  see  you,  Mr.  Barrett, 
and 

HELEN.  It  was  she  who  advised  me  to  go  home,  to  obey 
my  father,  and  to  wait. 

SETH.  I  fail  to  understand,  Miss  Underwood,  why  you 
should  have  anything  to  say  in  the  matter,  or  interest 
yourself  in  our  affairs.  I  think,  under  the  circumstances 
— the  less  we  have  to  say  to  each  other,  the  better. 

(The  door-bell  rings  loudly.) 

ANGIE  (she  and  ALAN  are  L.).     Why,  Seth,  who  can  that 

be? 

HELEN.     My  father  ! 
SETH.     Never  mind,  dear ;  be  brave.     It  will  be  all  right. 

(Enter  LOBELIA,  L.,  crossing  to  R.) 

LOBELIA.  Laws  o'  mussy,  sutt'nly  am  some  busy  times 
'round  yuh  dis  ebenin'. 

(Exit,  R.) 

HELEN.     Oh,  Seth,  I  am  sorry.     I  am  to  blame 

61 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


(He  comforts  her.     Exeunt  ALAN  and  ANGIE,  L.     ISABEL 
is  R.  ;  SETH,  c. ;  HELEN,  L.  c.) 

(Enter  DAVID,  R.,  followed  by  LOBELIA,  who  goes  to  L.,  and 
stands  listening.) 

DAVID  (down  to  c.).  I  have  come  for  my  daughter. 
(Sees  HELEN.)  Ah, — I  thought  so.  (Crosses  to 
HELEN,  seizes  her  arm  or  wrist  roughly.)  Come 
with  me. 

HELEN.     Yes,  father. 

DAVID  (to  SETH).  I  knew  she  was  here  all  the  time. 
Pretty  work  you're  up  to.  But  you'll  find  what  it 
means  to  entice  a  girl  away  from  her  home  and  en 
courage  her  to  go  against  her  own  father. 

(Exit  LOBELIA,  L.) 

SETH.     You  don't  understand,  Mr.  Conant.     You  wrong 

me.     But  I  think  another  time 

DAVID.     No — now.      You  are  harboring  my  daughter  against 

my  wishes,  and  I'll  make  you  suffer  for  it.     (  To  HELEN.) 

Come. 
ISABEL.     Wait.     I   have   something   to  say.     I  was  here, 

and 

DAVID.     Yes,  I  see  you're  here,  and  I'd  like  to  know  what 

for — in  his  house.     Things  look  mighty  queer  to  me, 

and  I  guess  when  this  gets  out — h'm 

(Sneers,  with  a  knowing  smile  of  gloating  triumph^ 

SETH.  You  are  on  the  wrong  tack,  'squire.  If  you  will 
calm  down  a  little 

DAVID.  Oh,  there'll  be  plenty  of  time  to  calm  down,  don't 
you  fear ;  and  I  guess  when  it  comes  out  that  you  have 
this  woman  here,  and  that  you  lured  my  daughter  away 
from  home 

HELEN  (advancing  to  front,  forgetting  her  fear  and  facing 
him  indignantly).  Father  !  You  mustn't  speak  of  Seth 
like  that.  It's  not  true — not  a  word  of  it — and  I  won't 
let  you  accuse  him  of  such  things.  He  didn't  lure  me 
here.  I  came  of  my  own  accord,  when  he  didn't  know 
it,  and  after  he  had  told  me  to  stay  home  and  obey  you. 
I  came  because  I  couldn't  stand  your  hardness — yes, 
your  cruelty — and  you  shan't  accuse  him.  If  you  do — 
62 


THE  VILLA  GE  LA  WYEB 


if  you  treat  him  like  this — I  shall  never  go  home — never 
— I  don't  care  what  you  do  to  rne. 

DAVID  (who  has  been  staring  at  her,  for  a  moment  too  sur 
prised  and  angry  to  speak).  You — how  dare  you  speak 
to  me  like  this  ?  I'll  teach  you.  I'll  show  you  whether 

you  can  defy  me ( Goes,  again  seizes  her,  and 

attempts  to  draw  her  toward  R.)  Come. 

ISABEL  (stepping  in  front  of  door  R.,  barring  his  way). 
Wait,  i  said  I  have  something  to  say,  and  now  you 
shall  listen  to  me. 

(HELEN  has  separated  herself  from  DAVID,  now  stands  c. ; 
DAVID,  R.  c. ;  ISABEL  gets  between  them.     SETH,  L.  c.) 

{Enter  ALAN,  L.) 

DAVID.  You  !  How  dare  you  touch  my  daughter,  a  woman 
like  you  ? 

ISABEL.  Be  careful.  Don't  go  too  far.  A  woman  like  me 
generally  knows  what  she  is  doing,  and  she  isn't  afraid 
of — a — man — like — you  ! 

DAVID  {scornfully}.     Ha  ! 

ALAN  (coming  to  c.).  I  can  tell  you  what  sort  of  woman 
she  is,  Mr.  Conant.  I've  heard  of  her,  I've  seen  her 
pictures.  She  is  an  actress — an  adventuress — a  no 
torious  woman.  Ask  her — ask  her  if  she  can  deny  it. 

ISABEL  {looking  at  him  disdainfully,  but  with  slightly  amused 
indulgence'}.  Oh,  you  poor  boy  !  You  mean  all 
right.  But  never  mind.  I  deny  nothing.  It  isn't 
worth  while.  I  see — there's  no  chance  for  a — "  a 
woman  like  me."  {Goes  to  R.)  Oh,  very  well.  But 
you  might  ask  him  (indicating  DAVID) — him— if  he 
doesn't  know  who  I  am,  and  what  I  am — ha  ! — and 
why  I  am  here!  That's  all — for  the  present.  Good 
night. 

(  Gives  them  all  a  sweeping  glance,  which  dwells  with  an  in 
stant's  tenderness  on  HELEN,  then,  with  her  head  up, 
haughtily  exits  R.  The  others  look  at  her  in  silence, 
amazed ;  HELEN,  as  if  in  protest,  starts  toward  R.,  but 
DAVID  stops  her.) 

DAVID.  Here — see  here  !  Are  you  going  to  stay  here — 
with  him — or  are  you  coming  with  me?  Remember,  if 
you  stay  now,  you  can  never  cross  my  threshold  agair* 
— I'm  done  with  you.  Which  shall  it  be  ? 

63 


THE  VILLAGE  LA  WYEB 


HELEN.     Why,  father,  I 

(She  falters,  shrinks  from  him  and  approaches  SETH  and 
looks  pleadingly  at  him.  He  stands  c. ,  regarding  her 
compassionately,  but  in  silence,  offering  her  no  en 
couragement.  She  pauses,  clasps  her  hands,  again 
looks  at  SETH,  turns,  bows  her  head,  as  if  in  resigna 
tion,  then  raises  it  with  some  show  of  spirit  and  deter 
mination,  and  exits  R. ,  without  looking  back.  Enter 
ANGIE  L.,  in  time  to  witness  above,  followed  by 
LOBELIA,  who  stands  up  L.,  raises  her  hands,  mutter 
ing  "Laws  o'  mussy  /  "  etc.  ALAN  and  ANGIE  L.  c. ; 
SETH,  c.,  DAVID  R.  c.  DAVID  gives  SETH  a  triumphant 
look  and  is  about  to  speak,  when  the  latter  silences  him, 
throwing  off  his  air  of  submission  and  turning  upon 
DAVID  with  fierce  denunciation.') 

SETH.  And  now,  David  Conant,  you  may  go  !  This  is  my 
house,  and  there  is  no  room  in  it  for  you.  You  have 
accused  me  of  things  of  which  you  know  I  am  inno 
cent,  you  have  tried  to  use  your  daughter  to  coerce  and 
intimidate  me,  you  have  hired  that  woman  to  come 
here  and  rake  up  some  story  against  me — but  I  tell  you 
I'm  not  afraid  of  you,  of  her,  nor  of  anybody.  (DAVID 
attempts  to  speak,  but  SETH  shuts  him  off.)  I  despise 
you  and  your  lies — your  low,  underhanded  methods 
— and  I  defy  you.  I'll  win  my  fight,  I'll  win  your 
daughter,  fairly  and  squarely,  in  spite  of  you — in  spite 
of  everything.  But  I  want  nothing  more  to  do  with 
you.  Go,  I  say  !  Go — go  ! 

(DAVID,  livid  with  rage,  has  been  trying  to  speak,  but  SETH 
has  overwhelmed  and  silenced  him,  forcing  him  to  door , 
and  finally  off  R.,  shutting  door  after  him  and  standing 
with  his  back  against  it,  with  flashing  eyes  and  set 
face.  He  is  oblivions  to  the  others,  who  stand  \,.,  re 
garding  him,  ALAN  and  ANGIE  somewhat  dismayed,  but 
with  admiration  ;  LOBELIA  holding  up  hands  and  wring 
ing  them,  muttering  to  herself.} 


CURTAIN 
64 


ACT  IV 

SCENE. — Same  as  Acts  I  and  II,  the  next  forenoon.  Dis 
cover  MRS.  D.,  seated  R.  j  LOBELIA  seated  L.,  fanning 
herself  with  large  palm  leaf  fan.  SETH  is  at  desk, 
looking  under  papers,  in  drawers,  etc. 

MRS.  D.     Land,  Lobelia,  you  warm  ?     I  don't  think  it's  so 

awful  hot. 
LOBELIA.     Ah  does.     On   mah  way  to  de  sto',  'n'  got  so 

het  up  Ah  jes'  had  t'  stop  yuh  fo'  minute  'n'  res'  mah- 

se'f.     (Looks  at  SETH.)     Wha'  yo'  done  look'n'  fo', 

Mass'  Seff? 
SETH.     Some    letters    I   seem    to   have   mislaid.     Perhaps 

Dan (Leans    out   of  window;   calls.)      Dan! 

Dan,  come  here  a  minute. 
MRS.  D.     Seems  t'  me  that  boy  don't  tend  t'  business  much 

t'  speak  of.     Nice  lawyer  he'll  make. 
SETH.     Oh,  Dan's  a  bright   youngster,  all  right;  but  boys 

will  be  boys,  you  know,  Mrs.  Dill. 
MRS.  D.     Yes,  'n'  most  of  'em  '11  be  nuisances. 

{Enter  DAN,  R.,  flushed  with  exercise.) 

DAN.     Want  me,  Mr.  Barrett? 

SETH.  Yes  ;  if  you  can  spare  a  moment  from  that  ball  game. 
Have  you  seen  anything  of  two  or  three  letters  i  left 
here  yesterday  ? 

DAN  (alarmed,  but  trying  to  hide  his  confusion).  L- let 
ters  ? 

SETH.  Yes,  letters.  There  was  one  in  particular  that  I 
wouldn't  have  certain  parties  get  hold  of  for  a  thousand 
dollars  — — 

MRS.  D.     Land,  that  must  have  be'iran  important  one. 

SETH.  It  was — and  is.  I'm  afraid  somebody  picked  them 
up,  and  if  they  did,  and  that  one 

{He  continues  searching;  MRS.  D.  and  LOBELIA  rise  and 
join  search.) 

65 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


DAN.     Mebbe  they  fell  in  the  waste-basket. 
(Looks  in  basket.') 

SETH.     I   don't  see   how   they   could.      Now,    let — me — 

see Conant   was   here.       Conant — Ferguson — 

that — by  Jove,  I  wonder  if  she 

MRS.  D.     You  mean  that  actress?     I  wouldn't  put  it  past 

her. 

DAN.     Oh,  she  didn't  take  'em — not  those  ones. 
SETH.     How  do  you  know  she  didn't  ?     What  do  you  know 

about  it — eh  ? 
DAN.     N-nothing,  Mr.  Barrett.     That  is,  I  mean — y'  see,  I 

was  here,  'n' — I  mean  I  was  out  there,  lookin'  in  the 

window,  and — and  if  she'd  took  'em 

SETH.     I   don't   suppose   she  did.     Run  along  and  finish 

your  game.     Maybe  they're  at  the  house. 
LOBELIA.     Ah  didn'  see  nuffin  ob  'em. 

(DAN  lingers  by  door,  as  if  wanting  to  speak,  but  looks  at 
MRS.  D.  and  LOBELIA  doubtfully,  hesitates,  then  exits 
R.  SETH  rises,  about  to  go.} 

SETH.     I'll  go  home  and  look  once  more.     They  must  be 

there.     Anything  you  wanted  to  see  me  about,  especially, 

Mrs.  Dill  ? 
MRS.  D.     No,  they  ain't.     Jest  dropped  in  t'  'nquire  about 

politics. 

SETH.     Oh,  that's  it  ?     No  more — er — legal  business,  then  ? 
MRS.  D.     No.     He's  doin'  pretty  well  lately.     Good  land, 

he'd  jump  over  the  barn  t'  please  me,  if  I  wanted  him 

to. 

LOBELIA.     Don'  b'lebe  he  could  do  it. 
MRS.  D.     Wai,  he'd  try. 
SETH.     That  would  be  quite  a  feat. 
LOBELIA.     Feet?     Ah   reckon   it'd  take  wings.     He!  he! 

Guess  it  gwine  be  some  time  fo'  yo'  Sam  Dill  gits  wings  ! 
MRS.  D.     Wai,  I  guess  he'll  be  an  angel  as  soon  as  you 

will. 
SETH.     I  hope  so.     We  can't  spare  Lobelia  yet  a  while. 

(Going.)     If  anybody  asks  for  me,  tell  them  I'll  be  right 

back.      I  must  go  and  look  for  that  letter. 
LOBELIA  (rising).     Ah'll  come  raight  'long  'n'  help,  soon's 

Ah  be'n  t'  dat  sto'. 

66 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


SETH.  Don't  hurry.  I  won't  need  any  help.  (About  to 
go  off  R.,  pauses.*)  Why — m'm — here  comes  Miss 
Underwood.  (Crosses  to  L.)  Think  I'll  skip  out  this 
other  way.  Don't  care  to  see  her  just  now. 

(Exit  quickly,  L.) 

MRS.    D.    (looking  off  R.).     Yes,    here   she   comes — that 

actress.     I  wonder  what  she  wants  here. 
LOBELIA  (rising,    looking  off).      Laws  o'   mussy,   is  she? 

Ah  reckon  Ah' 11  be  gwine  'long. 
MRS.   D.     Huh  !     I   guess    I   wouldn't    let  her  scare  me. 

Stay  V  see  what  she's  got  t'  say.     Mebbe  we  c'n  find 

out  what  she's  up  to. 

{Enter  ISABEL  R.  ;  she  pauses  up  R.  c. ;   MRS.   D.  is  C., 
LOBELIA  L.  c.) 

ISABEL.  Oh, — good-morning.  I  was  looking  for  Mr.  Bar 
rett.  Isn't  he  in  ? 

MRS.  D.  Don't  seem  t'  be.  I  guess  if  he  was  you'd  see 
him.  Seems  t'  me  you  have  a  good  deal  of  business 
at  the  lawyer's  office. 

ISABEL.  Why, — er — if  I  have  ?  Isn't  that  what  lawyers' 
offices  are  for  ? 

MRS.  D.     Oh  !     I  s'pose  they  be. 

LOBELIA.     He  !  he  !     Mebbe  yo'  wants  a  d'vo'ce? 

{Looks  meaningly  at  MRS.  D.) 

MRS.  D.  You  needn't  fling  out.  It  ain't  everybuddy  't's 
got  a  husband  t'  git  divorced  from.  (To  ISABEL.) 
Of  course,  it  ain't  none  o'  my  business  what  you're 
here  for,  'n'  I  ain't  one  o'  the  pryin'  kind,  but — well, 
it's  makin'  consid'able  talk,  'n'  I  d'  know  but  it's  my 
duty  t'  tell  y',  'f  y'  don't  know,  that  Dave  Conant's 
doin'  everything  in  his  power,  no  matter  how  low  it  is, 
t'  beat  Seth  Barrett,  'n'  it  looks  like  he  was  usin'  you 
as  a  tool.  I  hope  it  ain't  with  your  consent.  If  it  is — 
well,  I  reckon  you  can  guess  my  opinion  ! 

ISABEL  (down  R.).  Thnnk  you  for  the  warning,  Mrs. — m'm 
— Dill.  But  let  me  assure  you,  I  arn  nobody's  "  tool," 
and — I  am  on  Seth — Mr. — Barrett's  side. 

MRS.  D.      You  want  him  to  win  ? 

ISABEL.     I  do.     Yes, — with  all  my  heart. 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


LOBELIA.     Does  yo',  honey?     Does  yo'  mean  it? 

ISABEL.  Yes,  I  mean  it.  And  1  think  I  have  a  trick  up 
my  sleeve  that  will  do  it,  too. 

LOBELIA.  Up  yo'  sleeve  ?  Laws  o'  mussy  !  (Examines 
ISABEL'S  sleeve.)  Wharisit? 

ISABEL  (laughing).  It's  there,  all  right.  Just  you  wait. 
I  have  an  appointment  with  Mr.  Barrett  here,  at  eleven 
o'clock,  and  I  sent  word  for  Mr.  Conant  to  be  here  at 
a  quarter  past.  If  you  want  to  come  back,  say  about  a 
quarter  of  twelve  or  thereabouts,  perhaps  you'll  be  sur 
prised. 

MRS.  D.  Come  back  ?  I  see.  That  means  you  want  us 
t'go? 

ISABEL.  N-o,  I  didn't  mean  that  exactly.  But — if  you 
would,  you  see 

MRS.  D.  Well,  I  d'  know  what  you're  up  to,  'n'  I  ain't 
got  much  faith  in — actresses — from  what  I've  heard 
tell  of  'em,  but — we'll  go.  Won't  we,  Lobelia? 

LOBELIA.  Reckon  we  will.  Ah's  got  t',  anyhow.  Got  t' 
go  to  de  sto'.  Gwine  stop  on  mah  way  back,  dough, 
t'  see  'bout  dat  s' prise.  (To  ISABEL,  warmly,  as  she 
goes  up.}  Don'  car'  'f  yo'  is  a'  actress,  missy,  Ah 
kind  o'  laks  de  way  yo'  talks.  'N'  Ah's  jes'  a-dyin', 
Ah  is,  t'  see  what  'tis  yo'  got  up  dat  sleebe. 

(Exit,  R.) 

MRS.  D.  She  ain't  got  any  too  much  sense.  But  then, 
what  can  y'  expect?  Well,  I'll  be  goin'  too,  seein' 
you're  s'  anxious  for  me  to.  I  hope  you  mean  what  y' 
say,  'n'  the  way  folks  are  talkin'  ain't  the  truth 

ISABEL.  So  they  are  talking,  are  they?  And  nothing  very 
complimentary  about  me,  I  dare  say. 

MRS.  D.  Oh,  I  wouldn't  say  that,  exactly.  I  guess  you've 
had  compliments  enough,  's  fur's  that  goes — especially 
from  the  men — but — well,  seein'  you  come  here  'n' 
had  dealin's  with  Dave  Conant  'n' — well,  as  I  said,  I 
ain't  one  of  the  pryin'  kind,  'n'  I  don't  meddle  in  other 
folks'  business— but  of  course,  folks  will  talk,  'n'  all. 
But  I'm  willin'  t'  give  y'  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  as 
the  sayin'  goes. 

ISABEL.     Thank  you. 

(ISABEL  is  up  c.,  by  desk,     MRS.  D.,  about  to  go  out  R., 

meets  SAM,  as  he  enters.*) 

68 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


MRS.  D.  Why,  Sam  Dill,  what  you  doin'  here?  I  thought 
1  left  you  home,  shellin'  peas  ? 

SAM.  Got  'em  all  shelled,  'n'  thought  I'd  come  'n'  look  for 
you.  Lonesome. 

MRS.  D.  The  idee  !  It's  a  pity  if  I  can't  be  out  of  your 
sight  five  minutes  't  you  don't  have  t'  look  me  up. 

SAM.  More  'n  half  an  hour,  Janey  dear,  'n'  I  b'gun  t' 
think  mebbe  somethin'  'd  happened  to  y'. 

MRS.  D,  Good  land,  what  could  happen  ?  You  make  me 
p'rvoked.  (To  ISABEL.)  That's  jest  the  way  he  acts, 
sence  we  made  up  the  last  time.  Tags  me  around  like 
he  was  afraid  I'd  git  stole.  I  d'clare,  I  d'  know  but 
too  much  love  's  worse  'n  not  enough. 

ISABEL  (smiling).  I'm  sure  you  ought  to  be  thankful  for 
such  a  devoted  husband,  Mrs.  Dill,  and  appreciate  him. 
What  if  some  woman  not  so  fortunate  should  steal  him 
away  from  you  ? 

SAM.     Yes,  Jane ;  think  o'  that. 

MRS.  D.  I  ain't  worryin'.  I  guess  they'd  soon  be  willin' 
t'  give  y'  back.  But  I'd  like  t'  see  some  woman  try 
it !  She'd  find  out  that  Sam  Dill  ain't  the  hull  fam'ly, 
'n'  't  she'd  have  me  t'  reckon  with.  {Going.}  Come 
on,  Sam;  if  y'  don't,  I  might  git  kidnapped. 

(Exit,  R.) 

SAM.  Ail  right,  Jane,  I'm  a-comin'.  (Pauses  R.)  Fine 
woman,  my  Jane;  but  kind  o'  touchy.  Have  t'  be 
careful  not  t'  rub  her  the  wrong  way.  Loves  me, 
though ;  know  she  does. 

ISABEL.  Yes,  Mr.  Dill,  I  am  sure  she  does.  And  I  can  see 
that  you  love  her,  too.  But,  do  you  know,  it  isn't  al 
ways  best  to  let  a  woman  know  she's  too  sure  of  you. 

SAM.     Guess  Jane  knows  she's  sure  o'  me,  all  right. 

ISABEL.  That's  just  it.  Don't  neglect  her,  but  don't  let 
all  the  love  making  come  from  your  side 

SAM.  'F  I  didn't,  I  guess  mebbe  they  wouldn't  be  none. 
You  don't  know  Jane. 

(MRS.  D.  appears  R.,  out  of  breath.) 

MRS.  D.  Good  land,  Sam  Dill,  ain't  you  ever  comin'  ?  It 
don't  look  none  too  well,  hangin'  back  here  t'  talk  to 
another  woman. 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


SAM.  Sure,  Jane,  I'm  a-comin'.  (Goes  R.)  Jest  sayin' 
good-bye  t'  this  lady.  (To  ISABEL.)  Good-bye, 
Miss ;  hope  t'  see  y'  agin. 

(Exit,  R.) 

MRS.  D.  Oh,  y'  do,  eh  ?  Well,  we'll  see  about  that. 
The  idee  ! 

(  Tosses  her  head  and  exits  R.  ,  indignantly.  ISABEL  laughs  ; 
goes  to  window,  looking  out.  Enter  ALAN  and 
ANGIE  R.) 

ISABEL  (coming  to  c.).     Good-morning. 

ALAN  (bowing,  rather  distantly).     Isn't  Mr.  Barrett  here? 

ISABEL.     No 

ANGIE.  Good-morning,  Miss  Underwood.  We  just 
dropped  in  to  see  Seth  a  minute.  Making  plans 
for  a  picnic,  you  know,  and  I've  been  teasing  Seth 
to  go.  He  declares  he  can't — says  he  has  picnic 
enough  on  his  hands  as  it  is.  But  I  tell  him  it  would 
distract  his  mind — and  goodness  knows  he  has  enough 
to  worry  him.  I  think  he  ought  to  go.  Don't  you, 
Alan? 

ALAN.  I  suppose  he  knows  best  about  what  he  can  do,  and 

being  a  lawyer  and  running  for  office Of  course, 

we  want  him  to  go,  but  I  don't  suppose  he  is  in  just 
the  spirit  for  such  things.  ( Goes  up,  looks  out  of 
window.)  I  wonder  where  he  is. 

ANGIE  (up  by  his  side,  also  looking  out}.  I  can't  imagine. 
There's  Dan.  Ask  him.  (Calls.)  Dan  !  Dan  ! 
Where's  Seth  ?  Oh,  he  doesn't  hear  me.  I'll  run  out 
and  ask  him.  (Goes  R.)  He  ought  to  know. 

(Exit,  R.) 

ISABEL  (to  ALAN,  who  stands  by  window,  ignoring  her). 
Mr.  Spencer,  I — I  have  been  wishing  for  a  chance  to 
have  a  word  with  you. 

ALAN  (turning,  coolly).     Well? 

ISABEL.  I  know  you  haven't  a  very  good  opinion  of  me, 
and  that  you  think  I  am  here  for  no  good  purpose,  but 
I  mean  to  prove  to  you  that  you  are  mistaken.  Since  I 
came  I  have  had  my  eyes  opened,  I  have  seen  what 
real  love  and  trust  are,  or  may  be,  and  I — I — well,  I 
70 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


have  changed,  somehow.  I  want  to  do  something 
right — something  good — and  I  want  you  to  help  me. 
Will  you? 

ALAN  (who  has  come  down,  much  interested  as  she  pro 
gresses,  and  with  a  softened  manner}.  Why,  yes,  of 
course  I  will,  Miss  Underwood,  if  what  you  say  is 
true ;  if  you  will  tell  me  what  I  can  do,  and  how. 
But  I  don't  understand. 

ISABEL.  Of  course  you  don't,  and  there  isn't  time  for  an 
explanation  now.  (Looks  about,  anxiously.)  But  I 
assure  you,  I  promise  you  you  will  not  be  sorry. 
What  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  go  and  get  Miss  Conant 
and  bring  her  here,  as  soon  as  possible 

ALAN.  Bring  her  here — Miss  Conant?  But  why — what 
for? 

ISABEL.  That's  where  you  must  trust  me.  Just  go,  bring 
her,  unknown  to  anybody,  and  produce  her  when  I 
give  you  the  signal.  (Looks  L.)  Isn't  there  another 
room  there? 

ALAN  {going  and  looking  off  L.).     Yes. 

ISABEL.     And  another  outside  entrance  ? 

ALAN.     Yes. 

ISABEL.     Good.     Keep  her  in  there  till  I  tell  her  to  appear. 

ALAN.  But  if  she  won't  come ?  She  has  promised 

her  father,  you  know 

ISABEL.     Tell  her  it  means  her  happiness — and  his 

ALAN.     Mr.  Barrett's? 

ISABEL.  Yes.  And  she  will  come.  Go  now ;  there  is  no 
time  to  lose. 

{Enter  ANGIE,  R.) 

ANGIE.     Come  on,  Alan.     Guess  we'd  better  be  going. 
ALAN.     All  right.     (To  ISABEL,  close  to  her.)     M'm — may 

I  tell  her  ?     (Indicates  ANGIE.) 
ISABEL.     Of  course.     Take  her  with  you. 
ANGIE  (inclined  to  be  jealous}.     Well,  if  you  don't  want  to 

come 

ALAN.     Of  course  I  do.     (Goes  up)     I  have  something  to 

tell  you. 
ANGIE.     H'm  !     I  should  hope  so  ! 

(Tosses  her  head,  with  a  suspicious  glance  at  ISABEL;  he 
urges  her  out,  reassuringly.) 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


ALAN.     Now,  that's  all  right.     I'll  explain,  and 
ANGIE.     Yes,  but  I  don't  see 

(They  go  off  R.  ISABEL  by  window,  looking  out.  She 
should  seem  somewhat  changed  from  previous  act,  hav 
ing  a  more  womanly  and  sympathetic  manner,  except 
at  times  in  her  attitude  toward  DAVID.  After  pause  y 
enter  DAVID,  R.,  folio  wed  by  JAMES.) 

DAVID.  Oh,  you're  here — alone  ?  Glad  of  it.  Time  we 
had  a  little  talk. 

ISABEL  (down  to  c.).  I  quite  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Conant. 
It  is. 

JAMES.  Seems  t'  me  it's  time  something  was  done.  Every 
thing's  going  Seth  Barrett's  way. 

DAVID.  No  such  thing.  Just  a  little  spurt.  There's  the 
whole  county  to  hear  from,  and  I  guess  I  haven't  lost 
my  hold  yet.  But  see  here,  Miss  Underwood,  I  didn't 
like  the  way  you  acted  yesterday,  and  as  for  Barrett — 
well,  the  upstart  actually  turned  me  out  of  his  house. 
He  defies  me — says  he'll  win  in  spite  of  me,  and 
Huh  !  I'd  like  to  see  him.  But  there's  no  time  to 
lose.  When  you  going  to  turn  that  little  trick  ? 

ISABEL.  Soon,  Mr.  Conant, — soon,  I  assure  you ;  quite  as 
soon  as  you  possibly  can  desire. 

DAVID.  Well,  the  sooner  the  better.  Of  course,  I'm  not 
afraid,  but — well,  if  you  intend  to  earn  that  money 

JAMES.  That's  what  I  say.  All  I  hear  is,  "Seth  Barrett, 
Seth  Barrett,"  as  if  he  was  the  greatest  thing  that  ever 
happened.  I  tell  you,  it  looks  as  if  he 

DAVID.  Oh,  give  us  a  rest.  Nobody  wants  your  opinion. 
Besides,  it's  nothing  but  a  lot  of  women  and  old  fogies 
he's  got  on  his  side. 

JAMES.  Maybe  you  think  so.  But  I  hear  lots  of  talk,  and 
if  it  wasn't  for  this  lady  here,  and  what  she  can  do  to 
turn  things  against  him — well,  all  I've  got  to  say  is, 
you'd  better  get  a  hustle  on. 

DAVID.  Oh,  shut  up.  Wait  till  the  time  comes  and  see 
what  happens. 

JAMES.  Yes,  but  what  happens  may  not  be  just  what'll  suit 
you,  Dave  Conant. 

DAVID.  Oh,  shut  up.  Do  you  think  you  can  scare  me? 
Now,  Miss  Underwood,  I  want  to  know  what  you  in 
tend  to  do. 

72 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


ISABEL.     M'm — well, — if  I  may  speak  to  you  alone  for  a 

moment?     (Glances  at  JAMES.) 

DAVID.      Sure.     Jim,  you  go  outside  and  take  a  smoke. 
JAMES.    Oh,  all  right !    Seein'  you're  so  blamed  secret 

(Exit,  R.), 

DAVID.  Now,  what  is  it  ?  Speak  up.  Somebody  may 
come  any  minute. 

ISABEL.  It  won't  take  me  long  to  say  what  I  have  to  say. 
I  just  want  to  tell  you  that  I've  changed  my  mind 

DAVID.     Changed  your  mind? 

ISABEL.     Yes.     A  woman's  privilege,  you  know. 

DAVID.     You I  don't  understand. 

ISABEL.  I  mean  just  this,  Mr.  Conant,  that  since  I  came 
here  I  have  had  my  eyes  opened.  I'm — well,  I'm  not 
the  same  woman  you  saw  in  New  York — the  one  you 
hired  to  lend  herself  to  your  schemes,  with  such  glow* 
ing  promises.  Oh,  I  know — I  agreed — I  wanted  money, 
and  it  looked  like  an  easy  way  to  get  it.  But  money 
isn't  everything,  Mr.  Conant,  and  I've  found  out  there's 
something  else  far  better  and  more  worth  while.  I've 
seen  what  true  manhood  is,  and  also  what  pure,  sweet 
young  womanhood  is,  and  what  it  means  to  have  a 
good  and  noble  man  love  you.  I've  never  had  that 
experience,  but — well,  I  don't  mean  to  help  cheat  some 
other  woman  out  of  it. 

DAVID.  Oh,  what's  all  this  about,  anyway?  What's  got 
into  you  ?  You  want  more  money  ? 

ISABEL.  No,  I  don't  want  money — not  your  money.  I 
want  my  self-respect  and  the  good  opinion  of  those 
who,  because  of  my  association  with  you,  think  me  bad 
and  unscrupulous.  I'm  not — I'm  not  bad — I  don't 
mean  to  be — but  I  haven't  had  a  chance  1  But  I  have 
a  chance  now  to  do  a  good  act,  and  I  mean  to  do  it. 
I  mean  to  make  you  treat  your  daughter  the  way  she 
deserves  to  be  treated,  David  Conant,  and  to  stand  no 
longer  in  the  way  of  her  happiness.  I  mean  to  see  you 
give  her  to  the  man  she  loves 

DAVID.      Are  you  crazy?     You  think 

ISABEL.  I  think  you  will  tell  your  daughter  that  she  may 
be  Seth  Barrett's  wife,  and  tell  him  that  you  give  your 
consent. 

73 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


DAVID.  What's  got  into  you?  You  came  here  under  an 
agreement  to  expose  Barrett's  past,  to  disgrace  him 
and  put  him  out  of  the  race  against  me.  That's  what 
I  promised  to  pay  you  for,  and  now — now  you  tell  me 
I  must Ha  !  you  must  be  crazy.  I  don't  under 
stand  what's  put  any  such  notion  into  your  head, 
but  whatever  it  was,  you  might  as  well  get  it  out  again. 
You  needn't  think  you  can  scare  me  with  your  lofty 
talk  and  your  high  notions.  No, — ma'am  ! 

ISABEL.  What  put  it  into  my  head,  David  Conant,  was 
your  own  daughter — that  poor,  unhappy  and  misused 
girl,  who  trembles  at  her  own  father's  name  and  hides 
herself  when  she  hears  him  coming.  That's  the  kind 
of  father  you  are — a  tyrant — a  man  who,  for  his  own 
selfish  ends,  would  break  his  own  daughter's  heart ! 
But  1  tell  you,  you  shan't  do  it ! 

DAVID.  You!  You, — what  can  you  do?  You'd  better 
attend  to  your  own  affairs,  if  you  know  when  you're 
well  off.  What  are  you  ?  Ha  f 

ISABEL.  We'll  let  that  pass.  Just  now  I  have  only  this  to 
say — you  will  give  your  consent  to  your  daughter's 
marriage  to  Seth  Barrett,  and  give  him  a  fair  and 
square  deal  in  this  political  business — or  I  will  tell  all 
I  know  about  you — how  you  heard  in  some  way  that  I 
had  known  Mr.  Barrett  years  ago,  when  he  was  nothing 
but  a  silly  young  boy  infatuated  with  an  actress  who 
took  advantage  of  his  greenness  and  almost  made  a  fool 
of  him.  But  it  didn't  amount  to  anything — he  was 
innocent,  he  never  did  anything  that  he  need  be  afraid 
to  have  the  whole  world  know 

DAVID.  But  you  said  you  had  letters — you  led  me  to  think 
that  you — that  he 

ISABEL.  I  saw  your  scheme,  David  Conant,  and  that  you 
were  an  unprincipled  man,  equal  to  any  villainy  to 
carry  your  own  point — and  I  met  your  cunning  with 
some  of  my  own.  And  I  mean  to  show  you  up  good 
and  plenty,  if  you  don't  do  what's  right. 

DAVID.     Pshaw  !     Go  ahead.     What  can  you  do  ? 

ISABEL.  I  can  go  to  your  opponents — to  the  newspapers — 
and  tell  them  the  plot  to  ruin  Seth  Barrett,  and  how 
you  promised  to  pay  me  five  hundred  dollars  to  enter 

into  the  conspiracy,  and Oh,  I  can  do  plenty, 

and  you  know  it.  I  don't  mean  to — I  don't  want  to — 

74 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


if  you  agree  to  what  I  ask.  Otherwise — well,  leave  it 
to  me. 

DAVID.  You  wouldn't  dare  do  it.  Nobody  would  believe 
you,  if  you  did.  (He  cannot  quite  conceal  the  fact  that 
he  is  ivor r led,  but  tries  to  bluff  her.}  A  woman  of 

your  stamp — who  had  agreed  to Pshaw,  you're 

just  trying  to  follow  your  trade  and  be  theatrical;  but 
you  can't  scare  me. 

ISABEL.  Very  well.  But  as  sure  as  I  stand  here,  I  mean 
it,  and  you  haven't  money  enough  to  stop  me,  if  you 
refuse  to  do  what  I  say.  I  believe  you  would  sell  your 
soul  for  money  and  power — to  rule — to  have  others 
under  your  heel.  But  I've  had  my  eyes  opened,  I  see 
through  you,  and  I  mean  to  do  a  little  bit  toward  put 
ting  you  down  a  peg  or  two  where  you  belong. 

DAVID  (beginning  to  hedge,  but  still  putting  on  an  air  of 
defiance}.  What  do  you  intend  to  do — what  do  you 
flatter  yourself  you  can  do  ? 

ISABEL.  I  told  you.  What  I  can  tell  will  make  good  read 
ing,  and  will  help  destroy  what  chance  you  have  of 
winning  the  office  you  are  so  bound  to  have.  (She 
stands  where  she  can  see  out  of  window,  and  now  sees 
ALAN  and  ANGIE,  with  HELEN,  pass  from  R.  to  L. 
They  merely  glance  in  and  hurry  past  window.  DAVID 
does  not  see  them.'}  What  is  your  decision? 

DAVID.     You  have  it. 

{Enter  JAMES,  R.) 

JAMES.  Say,  what's  all  this  about?  I'm  tired  of  waiting. 
When  you  coming,  'squire? 

DAVID.  Now.  (Goes  R.)  Now,  Jim.  But  first  I  want 
you  to  look  at  this  woman  here.  Do  you  see  her  ? 

JAMES.     Sure  I  do.      (Looks  at  ISABEL.  )    Think  I'm  blind  ? 

DAVID.  You  thought  she  was  a  pretty  sensible  sort  of 
woman,  didn't  you  ?  A  woman  't  knew  which  side  her 
bread  was  buttered  on  ? 

JAMES.      Why,  yes, — sure.      Seems  to  be. 

DAVID.  Well,  she  isn't;  she's  a  fool — the  biggest  fool  of  a 
woman  that  ever  lived.  She  thinks  she  can  bluff  me — 
scare  me — and  make  me  do  something  I  don't  want  to 
do.  Don't  that  prove  what  a  fool  she  is,  Jim  Fergu 
son  ?  You  know  me,  and  I  guess Ha  !  she  ain't 

75 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


worth    noticing.     Come   on,    Jim.     We'll   find    better 
company  and  a  more  profitable  way  to  spend  our  time. 

(Gives  ISABEL  a  sarcastic,  half -defiant  look,  and  exits  R. 
JAMES  lingers,  watching  till  DAVID  is  out  of  sight,  then 
goes  and  speaks  to  ISABEL.) 

JAMES.  What's  all  this  about,  Miss  Underwood  ?  What's 
up?  Haven't  had  a  break  with  the  boss,  have  you  ? 

ISABEL.  He  may  be  your  "boss,"  but  he  isn't  mine. 
Thank  heaven  I  have  a  little  self-respect  left  yet,  and  it 
isn't  too  late  to  prove  it. 

JAMES.  But  I  don't  understand.  Ain't  you  goin'  to  carry 
out  that  little  contract  ? 

ISABEL.  No.  I  still  have  a  contract  on  hand,  but  it's  not 
that  one.  Ask  him  what  it  is,  if  you  want  to  know. 

JAMES.  What !  Do  you  mean  to  say  you've  flopped — gone 
over  to  the  other  side  ? 

ISABEL.  Yes,  that's  what  I've  done — "flopped,"  gone  over 
to  the  side  of  honesty  and  decency. 

JAMES.  Whew!  Well,  if  women  don't  beat  all !  (Goes 
R.,  then  comes  back  to  c.,  near  ISABEL,  speaking  confi 
dentially  to  her,  with  a  timid  look  off  R.)  Say,  Miss 
Underwood,  to  tell  the  truth — m'm — when  you  come 
right  down  to  it,  I  don't  think  any  more  of  him  than 
you  do.  If  it  wa'n't  that  I  have  to  watch  out  and  see 
which  side  my  bread's  buttered  on,  why — I'd  like  to 
see  him  get  it  in  the  neck,  myself.  (Goes  R.)  Think 
he's  going  to,  too,  the  way  things  look.  You  can't  tell 
the  boss  anything — he's  so  sure  of  his  own  power — but 
if  Seth  Barrett  don't  come  out  ahead — well,  I'll  "eat 
my  hat,"  as  the  boys  say.  'N'  I  ain't  worrying  about 
having  to  do  it,  either. 

(Exit  R.     ISABEL  goes  R.,  looking  after  him,  smiling,  then 
walks  L.  and  meets  ALAN,  as  he  enters  L.) 

ALAN.  She's  here.  Didn't  want  to  come,  at  first,  because 
she  had  promised  to  obey  her  father  and  wait,  but  we 
told  her  she  must  come,  and  she  did.  I  hope  it  comes 
out  all  right. 

ISABEL.     I  mean  that  it  shall,  Mr.  Spencer.     Trust  me. 

ALAN  (doubtfully,  then  determinedly).     I — I — will. 

ISABEL.     Thanks. 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


(Enter  ANGIE,  L.) 

ANGIE.  Helen's  just  about  scared  to  death.  She  doesn't 
know  what  to  make  of  it  all,  and  she's  so  afraid  she 
has  done  wrong  coming  here,  that  1  don't  know  as  1 
can  keep  her. 

ISABEL.  I  will  speak  to  her.  I  think  I  can  convince  her 
that  it  is  right  and  for  the  best. 

(Exit,  L.) 

ANGIE.     Dear  me,  Alan,  do  you  think  we've  done  right? 

ALAN.  I  hope  so.  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  that 
woman,  but  she  seems  sincere,  and — well,  somehow  I 
just  had  the  feeling  that  she  meant  all  right  and  that  we 
ought  to  do  as  she  said,  and — now  I'm  going  to  see  it 
through. 

ANGIE.  So  am  I.  But  what  if  it  goes  wrong,  and  Seth 
blames  us,  and — and  tells  you  that  you  can't — that  I 
can't Oh,  Alan,  what  if  he  does? 

ALAN.  Now,  little  pessimist,  don't  begin  to  look  for  trouble 
before  it's  anywhere  in  sight.  I've  had  a  talk  or  two 
with  that  big  brother  of  yours,  and  I  think  I  have 
nearly  convinced  him  that  I'm  not  the  worst  fellow  in 
the  world,  and  that  I  may  in  time  prove  worthy  even 
of — of  winning  you,  you  little  darling  ! 

ANGIE.     Oh,  Alan  ! 

(He  is  about  to  kiss  her,  but  desists  suddenly,  and  she  at  the 
same  time  draws  away  from  him,  holding  up  a  warn 
ing  finger.} 

ALAN.  M'm — that's  the  time  I  'most  forgot  again.  We 
promised,  didn't  we?  Well,  it's  a  promise  that's  all- 
fired  hard  to  keep,  that's  all  I've  got  to  say. 

(  Enter  SETH,  R.  ) 

SETH.  Aha,  here  you  two  are  again.  How  does  this  hap 
pen  

ALAN.     Why,  you  see — we 

ANGIE.  Yes,  Seth — you  see — we — we  came  to  see  if  we 
couldn't  persuade  yon  to  go  to  the  picnic,  and — don't 
you  think  you  can,  Seth?  We  have  postponed  it,  you 
know. 

ALAN.     Yes,  Mr.  Barrett,  do  ! 

77 


THE  VILLAGE  LA  WYEE 


SETH.  Pshaw  !  You  know  I  can't  spend  time  to  go  to  a 
picnic.  Besides,  I  guess  you'd  have  a  better  time  if  I 
wasn't  along.  Looks  that  way  to  me. 

ALAN.  Do  you  mean,  Mr.  Barrett,  that  we — that  you — ' 
that  you  give — your — your — consent  ? 

SETH.  Consent  to  what  ?  That  you  go  on  a  picnic  ?  Of 
course.  Hope  you  enjoy  it.  (Up  by  desk,  looking 
about.}  It's  the  strangest  thing  what  ever  became  of 
those  letters.  Where's  Dan  ? 

ANGIE.     He  was  out  there  playing  ball  a  little  while  ago. 

ALAN  (  going  to  SETH,  speaking  earnestly,  half  aside  to  him). 
M'm — I've  got  the  ring  here,  Mr.  Barrett.  (Feels  in 
pocket,  taking  out  diamond  engagement  ring.}  Will  you 
let  me  put  it  on  ? 

SETH.     Do  you  think  it'll  fit?     (Sticks  out  his  finger.} 

ALAN.     Y-yes, — the  finger  it's  intended  for.     Eh,  Angie? 

ANGIE.  Oh,  Alan  !  (Looks  imploringly  at  SETH,  in  wist 
ful  confusion.}  Oh,  Seth  ! 

SETH.  Oh,  Angie !  Oh,  Alan !  Oh,  my !  (Hesitates, 
as  if  to  tease  them,  then  takes  ANGIE' s  hand  and  gives 
it  to  ALAN.)  You  might  try  it  on — and  see!  (They 
look  at  him,  in  amazed  surprise,  too  happy  to  speak.} 
Now  run  along,  children ;  I  have  work  to  do. 

(ALAN  and  ANGIE  are  R.  c.,  SETH  up  by  desk.} 

ALAN  (as   if  to  kiss   ANGIE,    looking  at  SETH).     M'm— 

can  I  ? 
SETH.     You  look  as  if  you  could.     I  have,  lots  of  times. 

(ALAN  kisses  ANGIE,  just  as  LOBELIA  appears  in  window 
and  sees  them} 

LOBELIA.     Laws  o'  mussy  ! 

(ALAN  and  ANGIE  run  off  R«) 

SETH.     Hello,  Lobelia  ;  where'd  you  come  from  ? 
LOBELIA.     Jest  down  t'  de  sto'.      (She  has  a  feiu  packages.} 

Gwine   home   now,    purt  soon.     Say,    Mass'   Seff,    yo* 

gwine  let  'm  hab  'er? 
SETH.      Who — (nodding  off  R.)  him  ? 
LOBELIA.      Yassah.     Yo'  gwine  let  'im  take  Miss  Angie  'way 

frum  yuh  ? 
SETH.     Not  yet  a  while,  Lobelia.     We  can't  spare  her  for  a 

73 


THE  VILLAGE  LA  WYEB 


long  time  yet,  but  some  time — well,  I  have  found  out 
that  he's  a  fine  fellow,  after  all — from  a  good  family, 
well  off,  and — as  Angie  seems  to  love  him,  and  he 
seems  to  love  her,  and — well,  what  you  going  to  do? 

LOBELIA.  Oh,  dis  lub  !  Ain'  dat  jes'  de  way  it  goes? 
An'  yo',  Mass'  Seff,  what  'bout  yo'  ?  Ain'  you  gwine 
hab  no  lub — yo'  V  Miss  Helyun? 

SETH.  Oh,  Lobelia,  why,  of  course  we  are,  all  the  love  in 
the  world.  That'll  come  out  all  right,  don't  you  worry. 
We  may  have  to  wait  a  while,  but  it  will  be  worth 
waiting  for.  There,  now,  you  trot  along  home,  or  we 
won't  have  any  dinner. 

LOBELIA.  Trot?  Laws  o'  mussy,  wha'  yo' take  me  fo' ; 
t'ink  I'se  gwine  trot?  He!  he!  Guess  mah  trott'n' 
days  done  gone  by.  He !  he !  Laws  o'  mussy ! 
Trot ! 

(She  disappears  to  L.  SETH  stands  looking  out  of  window 
after  her,  laughing ;  after  a  pause  turtis,  sees  ISABEL, 
who  enters  L.) 

SETH.     Miss  Underwood  !     Here  ! — you  ? 

ISABEL.  Yes.  I  told  you  I  should  be  here,  and  that  I 
should  have  something  to  say,  and  something  to  give 
you.  What  I  have  to  say,  Mr.  Barrett,  is  this — I  want 
you  to  forgive  me  for  anything  I  have  said,  anything 
that  I  may  have  seemed  to  do,  or  to  be  about  to  do,  to 
injure  you.  I  am  sorry.  I  am  going  away — to-day — 
back  to  New  York — and  you  will  never  see  me  nor  hear 
from  me  again.  And  what  I  have  to  give  you  is  tins 
— these.  {Opens  hand-bag,  takes  out  packet  of  letters, 
and  offers  them  to  him.)  Take  them — they  are  yours. 

SETH.     I  don't  understand.     Only  yesterday 

ISABEL.  I  know.  Only  yesterday — a  few  days  ago — I  was 
a  different  woman.  Since  then — well,  something  has 
come  over  me.  I  have  had  my  eyes  opened.  Another 
woman  has  appealed  to  me — her  tenderness,  her  in 
nocence,  her  sorrow,  and  -  Oh,  I  don't  suppose 
you  can  understand — you  won't  believe  me,  perhaps, 
but  it's  true — it's  true — and  I  mean  to  prove  to  you 
that  I  am  sincere 

(He  looks  at  her,  doubtfully,  not  inclined  wholly  to  believe. 
in  her.  She  stands  u.  c. ,  he  c.  She  is  about  to  open 

79 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


hand-bag,  when  DAN  runs  in  R.,  excited ',  with  one  hand 
behind  him.  He  pauses,  dismayed,  when  he  sees 
ISABEL.) 

SETH.     Well,  sir,  what  do  you  want  ? 
DAN.     N-nothing.     I  just — I  was  just 


(He  shows  an  inclination  to  retreat,  but  SETH  detains  him, 
noticing  what  is  in  hand  behind  his  back.) 

SETH.  Wait  a  minute.  You  have  something  to  tell  me. 
What  is  this  ? 

( Takes  hold  of  his  arm  and  reveals  the  hidden  hand,  which 
holds  bunch  of  letters.) 

DAN.     Why,  that's— that's  them  letters,  Mr.  Barrett.     You 

see,  I — I  thought 

SETH.     Letters  ?     What  letters  ?     Let's  see. 

(DAN  gives  him  the  letters,  which  he  glances  at,  puzzled. 
ISABEL  also  is  greatly  surprised  and  interested.  SETH 
unties  letters,  looks  them  over  quickly,  amazed) 

DAN.     You  see,  she — she  said  she  could 

SETH  (handing  letters  to  ISABEL,  who  takes  them  with  be 
wilderment).  I  believe  these  belong  to  you. 

ISABEL  (looking  at  letters).  Why,  these  are — these  are 
not 

SETH.  And  now,  sir,  what  have  you  to  say  for  yourself? 
Where  did  you  get  those  letters  ? 

DAN.  Why,  I — I  reached  in  the  window  and  took  'em, 
when  she  said  she  could  use  'em  to  hurt  you,  and  I — I 
meant  it  all  right,  Mr.  Barrett.  I  wanted  to  help  you 
and  get  the  best  of  her,  and  I  thought 

SETH.     But  these  letters  are  not  the  ones  I've  been  looking 

for,  the   ones   that   1  must  have.     If  the  others 

(Struck  by  a  sudden  suspicion,  looking  at  ISABEL.)    Ah 
— you 

ISABEL  (taking  other  packet  of  letters  from  bag  and  hand 
ing  them  to  him).  Perhaps  these r- 

SETH  ( looking  at  letters,  finding  the  one  most  important  letter, 
taking  it  from  envelope).     Ah— -I  see.      You  did  take 
them.     And  tin's  one — I  suppose  you  have  learned  its 
contents.     I  might  have  known. 
80 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


ISABEL.  No.  You  wrong  me.  I  didn't  even  know  that  I 
had  those  letters  in  my  possession.  Even  had  I  done 
so,  I  would  not  have  used  them  against  you. 

SETH.     Ho  !     A  likely  story.     You  didn't  know 

ISABEL.  No.  I  thought  they  were  the  others — the  letters  I 
had  when  I  came  here — the  ones  you  wrote  to  me,  long 
ago. 

SETH.     Then  how 

DAN.  That's  so,  Mr.  Barrett.  That's  the  truth.  You 
see,  I  changed  'em.  I  took  the  others,  so  she  couldn't 
use  'em  against  you,  and  grabbed  up  some  others  from 
the  desk  and  put  'em  in  their  place,  so  she  wouldn't 
miss  'em — then  I  went  and  hid  her  bunch  under  the 
steps.  I  meant  all  right,  Mr.  Barrett,  honest  I  did.  I 
wanted  to  help  you. 

SETH  (unable  to  hide  his  amusement).  H'm — well,  I  guess 
you've  helped  me,  all  right.  Now  you'd  better  skedad 
dle.  I'll  attend  to  your  case  later. 

(DAN   looks   relieved ',    murmurs,    "Honest  I  did"  etc.; 
exit  R.) 

ISABEL.     Well ! 

SETH.     Some  kid,  isn't  he  ? 

ISABEL.  I  should  say  so.  If  you  had  a  few  more  cham 
pions  like  him,  I  guess But  now  I  hope  you  be 
lieve  me,  and  I  want  you  to  take  these  letters. 

{Offers  him  the  original  packet.} 

SETH.     Thank  you.     They  are  yours.     I  don't  want  them. 

ISABEL  (trying  to  make  him  take  them).  But  I  want  you  to 
take  them — just  to  show  that  you  believe  I  am  sin 
cere  (He  still  refuses  them,  turning  up  to  desk, 

looking  at  other  letters  ;  she  unties  her  letters  and  one 
by  one  tears  them  into  small  bits,  throwing  pieces  into 
waste-basket.)  There,  they  are  gone.  As  for  those 
others — you  must  believe  me  :  I  never  looked  at  them 
— they  never  were  out  of  my  possession.  Oh,  I  wish  I 
could  prove  it.  I  want  you  to  believe  it — you  shall ! 

{Enter  ANGIE,  L.,  followed  by  ALAN.     She  looks  off  to  R., 

in  trepidation.) 

81 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


ANGIE.     Oh,  Seth,  here  comes  Mr.  Conant,  and  I'm  afraid 

Helen (Sees  ISABEL,  pauses.) 

ALAN.     Angle ! 

SETH.     What  is  it  ?     What  about  Helen  ? 

ANGIE.     Why,  you  see,  she — we 

ALAN.     Yes,  Mr.  Barrett,  we 

(ISABEL  has  gone  L.  ;  exits  just  as  DAVID  enters  R.) 

DAVID.  Oh,  you're  here,  are  you,  Barrett  ?  Glad  of  it.  I 
hear  my  daughter  was  seen  coming  in  this  direction  a 
few  minutes  ago.  Don't  you  think  you'd  better  pro 
duce  her  ? 

(He  is  R.  c. ;  SETH,  c. ;  ANGIE  and  ALAN,  L.) 

SETH.     Your  daughter  is  not  here,  Mr.  Conant.     I  haven't 

seen  her  to-day. 
DAVID.     A  likely  story.     She  was  seen  coming  in  here,  not 

ten  minutes  ago 

(He  crosses  to  L.,  as  if  to  go  out  there,  but  is  stopped  by 
ALAN.) 

ALAN.     Just  one  minute,  please. 

DAVID  {pushing  him  aside}.  Stand  aside !  What  have 
you  got  to  say  about  it  ? 

ANGIE  (stepping  up  to  him,  indignantly).  Don't  you  talk  to 
him  like  that !  He's  my  friend,  and  we — we're  en 
gaged,  and 

DAVID.     Huh  ! 

{Disdaining  them,  he  is  about  to  force  his  way  out  L.,  when 
he  is  met  by  ISABEL,  leading  HELEN,  and  falls  back.) 

ISABEL.  Here  is  your  daughter,  Mr.  Conant,  ready  to 
claim  your  promise. 

DAVID.  Promise  !  I  didn't  make  any  promise.  She'd 
better  come  with  me 

HELEN.  No,  father,  not  unless — unless  you  give  your  con 
sent  

SETH  {going  to  her).  Helen,  what  does  this  mean  ?  Why 
are  you  here  ?  You  said  you  would  be  patient,  and 
wait. 

ISABEL.  There  is  nothing  to  wait  for,  Mr.  Barrett.  Mr. 
Conant  consents  to  give  you  his  daughter.  He  realizes 
82 


THE  VILLAGE  LAWYER 


that  her  happiness  lies  with  you,  that  he  has  made  a 
mistake,  and  he  wishes  to  atone.  (Turns  to  DAVID, 
speaking  with  deep  meaning.)  Isn't  that  the  case, 
Mr.  Conant? 

DAVID  (somewhat  reluctantly,  but  realizing  that  he  is 
cornered}.  Oh,  well,  I — I  suppose  if  she's  so  set  on 
having  him,  and  he  wants  her,  and — and  they're  bound 

to  have  each  other (To  SETH.  )  But  I  want  you 

to  understand  that  I'm  doing  it  of  my  own  free  will, 
and  that  I  still  intend  to  beat  you  out  in  that  election, 
if  I  can  do  it — and  I  can ! — but  I'm  not  going  to  have 
folks  saying  I  don't  care  for  my  daughter,  and  that  I 
stand  in  the  way  of  her  happiness,  because  of  politics. 

HELEN  (going  to  him,  throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck}. 
Oh,  father  !  Father,  you  make  me  so  happy  ! 

(He  releases  her,  but  not  without  a  show  of  affection.) 

SETH.  Thank  you,  'squire;  and  I  don't  think  you  will 
regret  it.  After  all,  if — if  I  should  beat  you — and  I 
mean  to  do  it,  you  know,  if  I  can — and  I  think  I  can  ! 
— (this  with  a  twinkle  of  amusement)  why,  it'll  be  all 

in  the  family You  may  not  be  a  district  attorney, 

but — you'll  have  one  for  a  son-in-law. 

DAVID  (tiot  inclined  to  accept  the  argument,  but  still  with 
a  manner  suggesting  that  he  yields  good-naturedly.) 
H'm  \  Maybe  I  will,  and — maybe  I  won't !  I  reckon  a 
few  of  the  voters  will  have  something  to  say  about  that. 

(Ife  has  gone  to  R.  ;  now,  without  another  word  and  with 
out  looking  at  any  of  the  others,  exits  quickly  R.,  as  if 
anxious  to  avoid  further  discussion.  ISABEL  walks  to 
R.  c.,  about  to  follow  him.  SETH  is  c.,  with  HELEN 
by  him  ;  ALAN  and  ANGIE,  L.  c.) 

ISABEL.     And  now — will  you  say  good-bye  to  me  ? 
SETH.     Why,  yes,  of  course — and  good  luck  to  you. 

(ffe  offers  her  his  hand,  which,  after  an  instant's  hesitation, 
and  some  emotion,  she  takes.  Then,  again  about  to 
go,  she  glances  tenderly  at  HELEN,  saying,  "  Good 
bye."  HELEN  goes  to  her,  kisses  her.) 

ISABEL.     Thank — you  ! 

83 


THE  VILLAGE  LA  WYER 


(Without  another  word,  but  showing  that  she  is  deeply 
moved  by  HELEN'S  caress,  she  slowly  exits  R.  HELEN 
looks  after  her,  with  an  expression  that  shows  some 
thing  akin  to  tenderness.  SETH  also  seems  touched, 
and  ALAN  and  ANGIE  stand  close  together,  L.,  looking 
on  with  sympathetic  interest.  HELEN  goes  to  SETH.) 

HELEN.     Oh,   Seth,  we — we  feel  kindly  toward  her — and 

toward  my  father — and — and  everybody — don't  we? 
SETH.     Yes,  dear — yes ;  toward  all  the  world  ! 

(He  takes  her  in  his  arms  ;  she  buries  her  face  on  his 
shoulder  and  he  kisses  her  on  forehead.  ALAN  puts 
his  arm  about  ANGIE,  kisses  her.  SAM  and  MRS.  D. 
appear  in  window,  unnoticed,  greatly  surprised,  but 
beaming  joyfully ;  he  attempts  to  kiss  her,  she  cuffs 
him  playfully,  he  persists  and  she  lets  him  get  the  kiss. 
LOBELIA  appears  R.,  sees  HELEN  in  SETH'S  arms,  raises 
her  hands,  then  clasps  them  together  rapturously.) 

LOBELIA.     Laws  o'  mussy  ! 


CURTAIN 


Unusually  Good  Entertainments 

Read  One  or  More  of  These  Before  Deciding  on 
Your  Next  Program 

GRADUATION   DAY  AT   WOOD   HILL   SCHOOL. 

An  Entertainment  in  Two  Acts,  by  WARD  MACAULEY.  For  six 
males  and  four  females,  with  several  minor  parts.  Time  of 
playing,  two  hours.  Modern  costumes.  Simple  interior  scenes; 
may  be  presented  in  a  hall  without  scenery.  The  unusual  com 
bination  of  a  real  "entertainment,"  including  music,  recitations, 
etc.,  with  an  interesting  love  story.  The  graduation  exercises 
include  short  speeches,  recitations,  songs,  funny  interruptions, 
and  a  comical  speech  by  a  country  school  trustee.  Price,  15 
cents. 

EXAMINATION  DAY  AT  WOOD  HILL  SCHOOL. 

An  Entertainment  in  One  Act,  by  WARD  MACAULEY.  Eight  male 
and  six  female  characters,  with  minor  parts.  Plays  one  hour. 
Scene,  an  easy  interior,  or  may  be  given  without  scenery.  Cos 
tumes,  modern.  Miss  Marks,  the  teacher,  refuses  to  marry  a 
trustee,  who  threatens  to  discharge  her.  The  examination  in 
cludes  recitations  and  songs,  and  brings  out  many  funny  answers 
to  questions.  At  the  close  Robert  Coleman,  an  old  lover,  claims 
the  teacher.  Very  easy  and  very  effective.  Price,  15  cents. 

BACK  TO  THE  COUNTRY  STORE.  A  Rural  Enter 
tainment  in  Three  Acts,  by  WARD  MACAULEY.  For  four  male 
and  five  female  characters,  with  some  supers.  Time,  two  hours. 
Two  scenes,  both  easy  interiors.  Can  be  played  effectively  with 
out  scenery.  Costumes,  modern.  All  the  principal  parts  are 
sure  hits.  Quigley  Higginbotham,  known  as  "Quig,"  a  clerk  in 
a  country  store,  aspires  to  be  a  great  author  or  singer  and 
decides  to  try  his  fortunes  in  New  York.  The  last  scene  is  in 
Quig's  home.  He  returns  a  failure  but  is  offered  a  partnership 
in  the  country  store.  He  pops  the  question  in  the  midst  of  a 
surprise  party  given  in  his  honor.  Easy  to  do  and  very  funny. 
Price,  15  cents. 

THE  DISTRICT  CONVENTION.  A  Farcical  Sketch 
in  One  Act,  by  FRANK  DUMONT.  For  eleven  males  and  one 
female,  or  twelve  males.  Any  number  of  other  parts  or  super 
numeraries  may  be  added.  Plays  forty-five  minutes.  No  special 
scenery  is  required,  and  the  costumes  and  properties  are  all 
easy.  The  play  shows  an  uproarious  political  nominating  con 
vention.  The  climax  comes  when  a  woman's  rights  cham 
pion,  captures  the  convention.  There  is  a  great  chance  to  bur 
lesque  modern  politics  and  to  work  in  local  gags.  Every 
part  will  make  a  hit.  Price,  15  cents. 

SI  SLOCUM'S  COUNTRY  STORE.  An  Entertainment 
in  One  Act,  by  FRANK  DUMONT.  Eleven  male  and  five  female 
characters  with  supernumeraries.  Several  parts  may  be  doubled. 
Plays  one  hour.  Interior  scene,  or  may  be  played  without  set 
scenery.  Costumes,  modern.  The  rehearsal  for  an  entertain 
ment  in  the  village  church  gives  plenty  of  opportunity  for 
specialty  work.  A  very  jolly  entertainment  of  the  sort  adapted 
to  almost  any  place  or  occasion.  Price,  15  cents. 

THE  PENN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 


Unusually  Good  Entertainments 

Read  One  or  More  of  These  Before  Deciding  on 
Your  Next  Program 

A  SURPRISE  PARTY  AT  BRINKLEY'S.  An  En 
tertainment  in  One  Scene,  by  WARD  MACAULEY.  Seven  male  and 
seven  female  characters.  Interior  scene,  or  may  be  given  with 
out  scenery.  Costumes,  modern.  Time,  one  hour.  By  the 
author  of  the  popular  successes,  "Graduation  Day  at  Wood  Hill 
School,"  "Back  to  the  Country  Store,"  etc.  The  villagers  have 
planned  a  birthday  surprise  party  for  Mary  Brinkley,  recently 
graduated  from  college.  They  all  join  in  jolly  games,  songs, 
conundriims,  etc.,  and  Mary  becomes  engaged,  which  surprises 
the  surprisers.  The  entertainment  is  a  sure  success.  Price,  15  cents,, 

JONES  VS.  JINKS.  A  Mock  Trial  in  One  Act,  by 
EDWARD  MUMFORD.  Fifteen  male  and  six  female  characters,  with 
supernumeraries  if  desired.  May  be  played  all  male.  Many  of  the 
parts  (members  of  the  jury,  etc.)  are  small.  Scene,  a  simple 
interior ;  may  be  played  without  scenery.  Costumes,  modern. 
Time  of  playing,  one  hour.  This  mock  trial  has  many  novel 
features,  unusual  characters  and  quick  action.  Nearly  every 
character  has  a  funny  entrance  and  laughable  lines.  There  are 
•many  rich  parts,  and  fast  fun  throughout.  Price,  15  cents. 

THE  SIGHT-SEEING  CAR.  A  Comedy  Sketch  in  One 
Act,  by  ERNEST  M.  GOULD.  For  seven  males,  two  females,  or 
may  be  all  male.  Parts  may  be  doubled,  with  quick  changes,  so 
that  four  persons  may  play  the  sketch.  Time,  forty-five  minutes. 
Simple  street  scene.  Costumes,  modern.  The  superintendent 
of  a  sight-seeing  automobile  engages  two  men  to  run  the 
machine.  A  Jew,  a  farmer,  a  fat  lady  and  other  humorous 
characters  give  them  all  kinds  of  trouble.  This  is  a  regular  gat- 
ling-gun  stream  of  rollicking  repartee.  Price,  15  cents. 

THE  CASE  OF  SMYTHE  VS.  SMITH.  An  Original 
Mock  Trial  in  One  Act,  by  FRANK  DUMONT.  Eighteen  males 
arid  two  females,  or  may  be  all  male.  Plays  about  one  hour. 
Scene,  a  county  courtroom ;  requires  no  scenery ;  may  be  played 
in  an  ordinary  hall.  Costumes,  modern.  This  entertainment  is 
nearly  perfect  of  its  kind,  and  a  sure  success.  It  can  be  easily 
produced  in  any  place  or  on  any  occasion,  and  provides  almost 
any  number  of  good  parts.  Price,  15  cents. 

THE  OLD  MAIDS'  ASSOCIATION.  A  Farcical  Enter 
tainment  in  One  Act,  by  LOUISE  LATHAM  WILSON.  For  thirteen 
females  and  one  male.  The  male  part  may  be  played  by  a 
female,  and  the  number  of  characters  increased  to  twenty  or 
more.  Time,  forty  minutes.  The  play  requires  neither  scenery 
nor  properties,  and  very  little  in  the  way  of  costumes.  Can 
easily  be  prepared  in  one  or  two  rehearsals.  Price,  25  cents. 

BARGAIN  DAY  AT  BLOOMSTEIN'S.  A  Farcical 
Entertainment  in  One  Act,  by  EDWARD  MUMFORD.  For  five  males 
and  ten  females,  with  supers.  Interior  scene.  Costumes,  mod 
ern.  Time,  thirty  minutes.  The  characters  and  the  situations 
which  arise  from  their  endeavors  to  buy  and  sell  make  rapid-fire 
fun  from  start  to  finish.  Price,  15  cents. 

THE  PENN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 


The  vi  Ha 


743437 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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